


Gemini Rising

by MostlyAnon



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: AU, Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Siblings, Both Shepards, Canon Rewrite, Cerberus - Freeform, Developing Relationship, Earthborn Commander Shepard, Entire Crew, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Infiltrator (Mass Effect), Leadership, Loyalty, Mass Effect 2, Mass Effect 3 - Freeform, Mass Effect Kink Meme, Mass effect infiltrator, Minor Characters GALORE, Multi, Original Character(s), POV Alternating, POV Third Person, Plot, Romance, SSV Normandy, Shepard Twins, Slow Build, Sole Survivor (Mass Effect), War Hero Commander Shepard, some sexual content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-18
Updated: 2013-04-07
Packaged: 2017-11-08 01:43:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 60,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/437742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MostlyAnon/pseuds/MostlyAnon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the dawn of his career, John Shepard overcame the impossible to become a hero.</p><p>At the dawn of her career, Jane Shepard survived the impossible to walk into anonymity. </p><p>The Shepard twins wage a war the galaxy cannot afford to lose.</p><p> </p><p>3/3/13 Edit: Chapter 8 has been fixed to include a previously, (and unintentionally) deleted scene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Duality

**Author's Note:**

> This is a mammoth AU inspired by a kinkmeme premise: what if Jane Shepard and John Shepard weren't mutually exclusive, but were twins? It's become a full rewrite of ME3 based upon that premise. I will be editing, adding to it, and expanding before I post here, so if you decide you want to read the first draft of what has been written thus far, you can find it here: http://masseffectkink.livejournal.com/4309.html?thread=9667285

At the dawn of his career, John Shepard looked down upon an advancing hoard of batarians and took stock of his injured squadmates, dwindling ammo, and narrowing options. Between surrender and saving even one of his men, there was no choice. He shored up his defenses, stockpiled every gun he could get his hands on, and three days later, he hailed the Alliance from the slavers’ flagship.

That was the first time the galaxy spoke of John Shepard. He was promoted as soon as he was cleared for active duty.

At the dawn of her career, Jane Shepard dragged the bodies of her squadmates over her own and frantically hacked every power source she could find, redirecting everything into her tactical cloak. She lay shivering in the dark and gore, her commander’s Viper rifle pressed close like a lover. She waited thirteen hours until, in the early morning dawn, the thresher maw came back for her. She emptied a full clip down the thing’s throat, activated her cloak, and moved to higher ground.

An Alliance drop team found her two days later, six miles from the camp, with three rounds of ammo left, one thresher maw dead and tracking another. Recruits to Alliance sharpshooting and sniping recon units still studied her patterns of attack from Akuze. 

It was the last time the galaxy heard of Jane Shepard. She was honorably discharged at her own request.

***

Cerberus had her brother’s body before Jane knew he was dead.

John Shepard opened his eyes to a new life and grabbed the nearest gun.

Raids against Cerberus bases tripled in ferocity and frequency.

***

Miranda heard the shouting, even through the door of the communications room. In itself, that wasn't unusual-- John and the Illusive Man shared very little common ground. But it sounded like a woman arguing with John.

“Joker, who is he on with?” she asked, staring at the door as though it might answer her.

“Got me,” Joker said, on the overhead speakers. “EDI’s been trying to trace the signal for the past ten minutes.”

“It terminates somewhere between the Horsehead Nebula and Hades Gamma,” EDI informed them. “Attempts to narrow the location further have resulted in several malicious codes I am currently attempting to remove from my systems.”

Through the door, Miranda heard the woman shriek “ _Goddamn Cerberus!_ ”

***

There were always rumors about Shepard. Liara disregarded them for the most part, because she could obtain her information directly from the source. Unless they threatened his safety, there simply wasn’t time to chase down every odd rumor that popped up. One day, when the galaxy wasn’t on the verge of Armageddon, (wasn’t that a pleasant thought?) she might devote some resources to them. It was most likely an impostor, she was sure, but it wouldn’t hurt to check.

One day, when she had more time.

Such were her thoughts, before the reports began to pour in about the Bahak System.

***

The nicest part of a suicide mission, in John’s opinion, was the brief time afterward, before anyone knew they’d actually survived.

Never one to shirk his duties, John found himself quite willing to take advantage of the pleasant circumstances, especially if it meant a few uninterrupted hours of peace and quiet.

Miranda’s hair brushed his thighs as she arched over him and cried out, lost in her orgasm.

Relative peace and quiet.

***

Randall Ezno knew a few things. He knew three hundred ways to incapacitate a biped. He knew he was going to kill every Cerberus bastard he could get in his sights, so long as Lady Jane didn’t sight them first.

He knew what despair looked like. No one worked for Cerberus as long as he had without getting a few memories they wished would disappear. But nothing, not even Inali writhing in pain and shrieking for help, would ever compare to the sight of a mass relay exploding and the knowledge that the galaxy just got a whole lot emptier.

Randall stood behind his captain and their pilot as the distress signals abruptly cut off. Pella was focused on getting them clear of the blast, but Jane stared out the cockpit’s main viewscreen.

“Jane,” he said, feeling like he should say something. People usually said things at a time like this. Comforting things. He couldn’t come up with a single one. _‘Sometimes genocide is the only way to keep everyone safe’_ sounded too much like the Cerberus party line.

Jane shut her eyes against the fading glare of the explosion and rested her forehead against the back of the _Nedas_ ’ pilot’s chair. “Just get us out of here, Pella,” she said to the pilot.

“Aye,” Pella said and set a course for anywhere else.

***

“Shepard--”

“Five more minutes, mom.”

“Shepard, you’re an orphan and I don’t look like anyone’s mother.”

“If I’m an orphan, how do you know you don’t look like my mother?”

“Shepard.”

“Surviving impossible odds has made you considerably less fun, Garrus.”

“Shepard, you need to check your mail and the news channels. The Bahak System was destroyed and they’re saying you’re involved.”

“...You could have led with that.”

***

John had three hundred and forty-two messages. He deleted three hundred and forty of them.

Of the remaining two, the first was from Admiral Hackett. It was a formal request that John appear to address charges of war crimes, genocide, and, oddly, illegal trade.

The second was unmarked and read simply: _we’re out of time_.

***

Garrus lifted his head when he heard the door to the lounge open, but he stayed where he was, watching the latest reports on the Bahak system. Not that he had a lot of options if he wanted to move from where he stood by the couches. It seemed like the entire crew had tried to cram into the port side lounge with him.

Shepard stopped beside Garrus and braced himself on the back of the couch, looking down at Tali. She tilted her head to look back at him and he smiled slightly at the rage in her eyes.

“Just to be clear...” Garrus started, still watching the reports, which now showed a star map and casualty estimates.

“Are you asking if I forgot to mention swinging through the Bahak system and blowing up its relay?” Shepard asked.

“Garrus!” Tali protested. “How could you even ask him such a thing?”

Shepard turned and leaned against the back of the couch. He met Garrus’ eyes evenly. “I didn’t do it.”

Garrus’ mandibles flared, but it was Tali who answered.

“That’s not what the media thinks,” she said. She gestured at the vid screen. “Your name is all over this, Shepard.”

“Yeah.” Shepard rubbed his forehead. “It is. I have time to drop you all wherever you want to go, but I need to go to Earth to deal with this.”

Miranda came in while they tried to drown him in their protests. Garrus might not have cared for Miranda, but he couldn’t help but envy the way Shepard looked at her, the way she smiled back at him. They had something undeniable. Shepard caught her hand and held it a moment before she went to stand by Kasumi.

“There is nowhere else we would go,” Samara’s cool voice cut through the crew’s din and demanded attention. “You have helped us in so many ways. We will do what we can for you, now.”

“Your code demands it?” Shepard quipped.

“No,” she said. “Our friendship does.”

***

Down in the cargo hold of the _Nedas_ , it was quiet and dark. Inali liked it down there best for one reason-- it was safe. Randall had spent three weeks rigging the elevator with security, making it impossible for her to escape into the rest of the ship, no matter how she raged. There was an old locker room off the starboard side and as much space as anywhere on the ship.

Not having to worry about the crew made it easier for her to fight the demon in her head. Jane had set her up with the communications array and it was less lonely, with the crew’s voices to keep her company.

Inali turned her head at the sound of the elevator, expecting Randall but not disappointed when Jane’s slim form was revealed.

“Lady Jane,” she said, by way of greeting.

“Inali. How’re you doing?” If Jane knew fear, it was only by reputation; the woman strode into the cargo bay without hesitation, tilted her head to get a good look at Inali, standing before her communications array. “You look better. I thought Randall was just blowing smoke when he said you’d put on some weight.”

“Keeping food down has become easier,” Inali agreed. She tilted her head slightly. “What’s wrong?”

Jane frowned. “I can’t just visit?”

“You can,” Inali said. “But you usually come visit when you need a reminder that there are scarier monsters in the galaxy than you.”

That barb struck tender nerve. Jane’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not a monster, Inali.”

Her smile was serene. “Jane, I measure my good days by how few times I try to kill my best friends.”

Jane sank heavily into one of the benches bolted to the floor. Inali watched her a minute more, then sat carefully beside her captain, offering her comfort as only monsters could.

***

Diana Allers hadn’t meant to cover the Shepard Tribunal. In fact, on the list of stories she wanted to cover, the Shepard Tribunal probably ranked right below Six New Must Have Elcor Fashions for Spring. It lacked effort. Everyone was covering the Shepard Tribunal, which meant somewhere in the galaxy, real news was happening and ready to be scooped.

But part of having a cushy network job meant going where the network sent you. So she found herself on Earth, covering the ‘Trial of the Century!’ Since she was good at her job, this mostly meant playing cards with one James Vega, instead of fighting the other reporters, vying for a few seconds worth of footage.

Playing cards with Vega meant she had won three interviews with John Shepard, thus far.

***

Kal’Reegar knew there was such a thing as a good death.

He was prepared to die a good death. He almost had, a few times before. Once, to save a pretty scientist. He had been ready, then. Dying for a good woman, for honor, to protect the Fleet. Those were good deaths. Shepard had offered him a chance to find another, better death, to follow him and Tali. Shepard was a strong leader, someone worth following. Dying on a ship orbiting the homeworld was not a good death. Watching his entire squad die--

_again_

\--for some petty feud between admirals with no more sense than...

Rocket fire interrupted his internal tirade. He ducked from cover, made a dash for the outcropping between two terminals, and wasted half a clip trying to bluff the geth into thinking he was the wrath of the Flotilla come to punish them.

He should have followed the pretty scientist and found himself a better death, he thought.

***


	2. Secrets

John Shepard stood on trial before the galaxy and repeated his alibi until there were no more words left to describe his innocence.

No, he had not been in the Bahak system. No, Hackett never contacted him regarding a mission. Yes, reports of him working with Cerberus were true. No, he was not involved, romantically or otherwise, with a high ranking Cerberus operative. She had cut all ties with Cerberus. No, he would not provide her name. Yes, he could provide proof he had been aboard the Normandy. No, he had no knowledge of a rogue VI onboard.

Garrus gave his official testimony the second day. Tali, the third. Jacob, Samara, and Chakwas went the sixth day. Joker was called up the seventh. Mordin’s statements were read nine days after the trial convened. 

Garrus was watching the reports at the start of the second week when a pounding at his hotel door interrupted him. He glanced at the time, realized it was about half an hour past her usual check in, and opened the door to Miranda Lawson.

They stared at each other warily a moment. Miranda was at loose ends, with John on trial and no real way to help him. It had become routine for her to stop in and watch the recaps of the day with him. The Alliance had put him up in a fairly nice hotel while he waited to be called to the stand. He had followed her after the first visit, to ensure she had a safe place to stay. He owed John as much, even if Miranda hadn’t saved Garrus’s hide a few times, back on the Collector’s base.

“Come on in,” he said, stepping back.

“Thank you,” she said, and went to the couch, taking a seat. No preamble, no niceties. She picked up the remote to flip through the channels. “Did you see the new reports? They’re trying to drag Joker’s name through the mud. Having a hard time of it, though.”

“You sound pleased,” Garrus said, sitting beside her. He went back to cleaning his rifle.

“I personally investigated and selected most of his crew, including the pilot. I wouldn’t have picked any of you if you weren’t the best.” It was the closest she’d ever come to complimenting him.

Garrus flicked a mandible, lifted the barrel of his rifle to look through it. “Careful, Lawson, people might get the wrong idea.”

“I’ve always had the upmost respect for you and the rest of the crew,” she said, eyes focused on the vidscreen. 

On screen, the reports cut to Shepard, standing in his dress blues. Garrus watched Miranda straighten, her brow furrow slightly. Human signs for attention, concern.

“He’s lost weight,” she said. “He should be out fighting the Reapers, helping us prepare, but they have him tied up in rumors and heresay.”

She stood up and paced away from the screen. Garrus shifted so he could watch as she came to a stop. She wrapped her arms around herself.

“Whatever else Cerberus is, they never questioned their own, not like this,” she said. 

***

“Rachni,” Randall said, nudging a spore pod with his boot. It wobbled, but held. He kicked it a bit harder. The whole cave stank to high heavens. “That’s a new one.”

Jane checked her clip, rolled her shoulders. Her smile was edged with anticipation. “Not just Rachni.” 

“No,” Inali said, looking at the cave. Randall turned slightly to see her; she rode his six, safely tucked behind him and Shepard. Her armor dwarfed her. Her eyes were bleeding black. “Can’t you hear them? They’re singing. Reapers.”

Jane looked at the pair of them. Grinned. “You wanted to test your control, Inali. Feel like a fight?”

Inali’s smile was almost as vicious as Randall’s. “Try to keep up.”

“That’s my girl,” he said, following her into the cave.

***

Shepard’s gift had always been finding potential where no one else could.

“This one’s alive!” she shouted, crouched over a krogan. Inali’s haunting wail filled the cave, but Randall checked his fire, returned to his captain’s side. The krogan _was_ alive, but only just. Randall helped Jane carry the creature back to the shuttle.

Pella was waiting, halfway down the ramp. She wasn’t as strong as Randall, but he was the only one who could reign Inali in, tempt her back to the ship, away from her killing field. They needed the doctor, not the banshee, and for that, they needed Randall.

Between them, Shepard and the quarian pilot were able to drag the krogan aboard, to the small med-bay. 

“More strays?” Pella asked, grunting under the weight.

“Someone has to do the heavy lifting,” Jane said, grinning. “At least we saved one.”

The krogan was a tough bastard, she’d give him that. He coughed up a gallon of blood, opened what was left of his eyes. “Ereba?” he asked.

He dropped into unconsciousness before she could figure out an answer.

***

When the Reapers hit Earth, there was no hesitation.

Tali pounded on Garrus’ door; he had his rifle loaded and his armor on. She took point as they fought their way down the street. 

Samara was halfway to the spaceport. She smiled in serene greeting, put her boot through a husk’s skull, and wrapped them all in a barrier. Zaeed was just inside the gate, gleefully cursing down the ships, extracting dear price from the advanced scouts. Miranda and Jacob met them a few meters past that. Together, they made short work of the forces between them and the Normandy. 

Kasumi never left the ship, finding it suited her current whims. Chakwas was already there. So, to Garrus’ surprise, was Ashley.

There were new faces, as well, but they had never faced the Reapers before. Garrus had no use for them, as long as they stayed out of the way. Minutes were wasted, trying to sort out the chain of command, everyone shouting at the top of their voices, on the bridge. EDI silenced it all. She locked the ship down, segregating the crew, and delegated control to Miranda.

Thane was last to board. He was held up by a pair of Marauders. Apologies.

Miranda dug her nails into Joker’s chair. “Get Shepard,” she said.

They were already gone.

***

Inali shrieked her rage in Randall’s face. He held on, held her struggling form, their biotics bleeding together as she struggled to get free, to get her claws into him. She was vicious and wild, but he had twenty good years experience in the field and maybe five bad years, all of which won against vicious and wild, any day.

The Illusive Man would burn for what had been done to her.

Randall held her and talked, talked until she stopped screaming and cocked her head at him. Talked about inane, stupid things, like wanting another implant, maybe one for defense, about the color of her eyes and how vivid they were, about the first time they told him he was getting a new handler, because his old one was sick of putting up with his crap, how he’d doubted she would be able to handle him, this little slip of a girl. How well she did handle him, how he liked the way she handled him. 

“Randall,” she sobbed, falling back into herself. He caught her when she sagged, pressed his scarred lips to the fuzz on her head. 

“Hey, there, beautiful. You ready to go?” he asked. “Lady Jane got you a krogan to fix.”

Her breath stuttered against the sweat on his throat. “We saved one?” she asked.

“Yeah, babe. We saved one.” 

One was enough, for her.

***

It took a while to calm the mutiny, diffuse the brewing war between the Alliance soldiers already on board and the Normandy's old crew. The Alliance crew were a mix, people John had known before, like Adams, and new people, like Traynor.

People who, it turned out, had believed his warnings about the Reapers before the attack on Earth. Vega mouthed off to find himself quickly put in his place. But John understood his objections.

Running from the fight galled him, too.

But they had to run. They needed an army to fight this. He needed the Council's support, needed to rally everyone to Earth. They were one step closer than they'd been, with Liara's new information, but still had miles to go.

He thought of Ashley, barely breathing, barely recognizable, and willed the Normandy to move faster. Cerberus had been all over Mars. Miranda had been as mystified as he was.

He added another bullet to his to do list.

John found Liara in the Normandy’s lounge with Garrus and Tali. They fell silent when he walked in, never a good sign.

"You settle in?" he asked Liara, crossing to the bar. He poured seltzer over ice, stared at the popping bubbles.

"Yes, though I'm fine in the crew quarters, Shepard. I don't want to cause trouble with your crew." Liara's statement was bland, but he read the question on her face. She should never take up poker, he thought. She couldn't bluff worth a damn.

"Miranda bunks with me," he said. "Are you sure you're the Shadow Broker? You know it's not a problem."

Her smile was impish. "I just thought I’d check."

"Shepard's sleeping arrangements aside, what's the plan?" Tali cut in. "I can contact the Fleet."

Shepard raised his eyebrows. "You think they'll help?"

"No," she answered truthfully.

He sighed and rubbed the inside of his wrist against his forehead. "We're heading for the Citadel. We need to raise an army. I need to talk to the Council."

"Gonna be hard, loco," Vega said, coming into the lounge, followed by Allers. "You're not exactly the Galaxy's golden boy, eh?"

"He's right, Shepard," Garrus said. "Half the galaxy thinks you're a war criminal and the other half thinks you work for Cerberus."

"I don't think we have to worry about it," Allers said, watching the vid screen on the wall. Someone had set it to play the news,on mute. Shepard frowned and focused on it, reading the captioning under reporter. Garrus found the remote to turn the volume up.

"...New video, exclusive. A credible source confirmed that this footage was recorded in the hours before the Bahak Relay incident, which tragically left 300,000 dead. Experts have confirmed the authenticity of the recording. I repeat, we have obtained exclusive video footage from the hours before the Bahak Relay incident. While no official word has been given, it appears Commander John Shepard was not involved with the destruction of the mass relay. The identity of the woman in this video remains unknown, but experts..."

The reporter's voice faded out, droned on. The footage began to play again. It appeared to be from a helmet mounted camera, recorded as someone infiltrated a Batarian base. They were showing highlights-- the action stuttered, jumped. He saw soldiers, then a second later, dead varren, a woman tied up. 

He straightened when Harbringer's glossy form appeared, towering over the infiltrator. A woman's voice--

_"We will fight, we will sacrifice, and we will find a way."_

"Harbinger?" Garrus said, surprised. "It called her Shepard."

John rubbed his forehead, shutting his eyes against an oncoming headache. "Yeah. That's my sister."

He looked up at the silence. The others were staring at him. 

"You have a sister?" Miranda asked from the doorway. 

"You have a sister," he said. "Garrus has a sister. Ashley has several. They're fairly common." 

"I thought you were an orphan," Allers said. 

"That just means my parents are dead," Shepard said. 

"Girl Shepard," Vega said, sounding intrigued. "Hell yes, sign me up."

John pointed at him. "I can kill you six different ways with this glass, Vega."

Vega held up his hands. "Hey, just saying. That's gotta be a fine piece, right?"

"You have a sister?" Liara repeated, brow furrowed. “How is it I didn’t know?”

"No," John said to Vega. "She is not a fine piece. She's my twin sister. She looks like me. Seriously, six ways. Without breaking the glass. Do not be lewd about my sister."

"Which you apparently have," Miranda interrupted. "None of your records mention a sister, Shepard. There's no way Cerberus would have missed that."

Shepard shrugged, looking at her. She was wearing black, sans the Cerberus insignias. He loved her in black, the way her suit clung to her hips, gapped a bit at her neck. She frowned at him, breaking his reverie.

"No way you would have found out about her," he said. "She has... an issue with Cerberus."

"A lot of people have an issue with Cerberus," Allers said. 

"Yeah, but most of them aren't Lady Jane." Shepard straightened, drained his glass. He held up his hand to interrupt the deluge of questions that reveal brought on. This was what he got for keeping her secret, he supposed. More headaches.

"Your sister is a pirate," Miranda's voice cut through the others. "Renowned for the viciousness of her attacks against Cerberus. And you never thought to mention it?"

He exhaled. "Miranda, we enlisted to get off of Earth," he said. "Her first posting was on Akuze. She was the only survivor and she found out about Cerberus' involvement. I didn't mention it because there's a very good chance she's tried to kill you before."

There was a moment of silence.

"The Shepard Doctrine," Garrus finally said. "I knew that wasn't you."

"The Shepard Doctrine?" Tali asked.

"It's a military thesis for beating an overwhelming force through strategy," Shepard answered. "Like a chess handbook, for snipers. My sister spent three days on Akuze, hunting a thresher maw."

"Why?" Tali asked. "I know you like to tempt fate, Shepard. Is it a family thing?"

"No," he said. "Cerberus was trying to weaponize thresher maws. Her squad was investigating. They killed everyone except for her. She killed one and was hunting another when they found her. She left the Alliance after that."

"Damn, loco," Vega said. "I think I'm in love."

"I'm not that bad with a rifle," Shepard said to Garrus, scowling. 

"You're not that good, either," Garrus said.

***

_Reapers attacked Earth. Heading to the Citadel to get Council support. Call me._

Jane deleted the message off her omnitool and rubbed her forehead. He'd seen the footage, then. She rose from the uncomfortable chair, checked the time. She had a few hours to spare.

She nodded to the doctor as she passed. The asari doctor looked haunted. She couldn't blame the woman. Some stories were as hard to hear as they were to survive. Hospitals had a way of sharpening a razor’s edge on the world.

"My name is Lady Jane," she said. "You can have my gun."

The asari lifted her head. "What color are my eyes?" 

"Blue," Jane said.

"I can have your gun?" the asari asked.

"Yes," Jane said.

"Why?"

"I need you to kill Reapers."


	3. Space

John Shepard stood in the middle of his quarters, staring at the space overhead. His breath was harsh, even, and loud in the overwhelming silence of his cabin. He didn’t move, not even when Miranda wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head between his shoulder blades.

“You’re doing it again,” she told him.

“I know,” he said, voice empty.

Miranda sighed against his shoulder. She loved Shepard and would follow him through Hell, she had brought him back from the dead, and knew every inch of him intimately, but she didn’t always understand him.

He needed people like plants needed sunlight. She had several very detailed psychological profiles that listed numerous possible reasons for his compulsive need to surround himself with others. It was part of the reason he inspired people the way he did, she was certain. He cared. It was the thing that made people believe they would survive a suicide mission.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

He shifted his weight off the balls of his feet. She felt, rather than saw, him rub his forehead. “Mordin. I went to talk to Mordin about Ashley and...”

“You told Mordin to go,” she said. “He was going to retire. You told him to visit his family.”

“The medbay was empty.”

“Sometimes, rooms are empty. Dr. Chakwas said she would be back as soon as she finished her consult.”

“Jack--”

“Is teaching biotics at Grissom,” she cut him off. “You got her the job. Said it would be good for her to create something positive.”

“Grunt,” he said.

 “‘I can’t teach you to be a krogan, Grunt,’” she said, imitating him. “‘You need to be around your people. Become your own battlemaster.’”

 “I don’t sound like that.”

“You do,” she said.

“You’re mad I didn’t tell you about Jane,” he said.

“No,” she said. “I understand secrets, John.”

“Like the one you’re keeping now?”

Her stomach dropped, throat stinging. Damn him, he was good. He saw through everyone. It was because he cared; he paid attention. She had been certain he was asleep when she received word. So careful not to let her worry leak through.

He leaned back, resting some of his weight on her. “Is it your father?” he asked.

“No, it’s Oriana. She’s gone missing.”

“When?” He was so damn calm about it. She wondered what it would take to rattle him. Coming back from the dead hadn’t done it, a trial for treason hadn’t done it, the Reapers hadn’t done it. He didn’t know depression, or stress, or worry, he just knew there was a job to be done and a problem to be fixed. There were days she would swear the man was more robot than Legion.

“About a week ago. I was trying to investigate on my own--”

“I’ll ask around on the Citadel.” He looked at his private terminal, which displayed their current location by default. “We’ll be there soon.”

She nodded. “I have a few favors I can call in. I’ll go while you meet with the Council.”

“Is it safe for you?” he asked.

She smiled. “No,” she said. “Isn’t that part of the fun?”

***

“Spectre status recognized.”

Jane cocked her head at the voice. “Huh. Golden Boy’s back in the galactic good graces.”

“One day, you’re going to explain how you managed to get a hold of Commander Shepard’s identity,” Randall said.

“Everyone should have a dream,” Jane told him. “Did you get Aeian settled?”

“She’s bunking down in the crew quarters. That’s a damn broken Asari, Lady Jane.” He followed her off the elevator, falling into step a pace behind her.

“Be nice to her. She wants to die.” Jane paused, looking across the commons. It was a sea of people, writhing with opportunity. “Charr wants to join up.”

“Why the hell not?” Randall asked. “If we can find a turian and a salarian, it’ll be just like home.”

“You better not have just compared my ship to a Cerberus base, Ezno,” she said.  

"Nah, food was better with Cerberus,” he said, shoving past a salarian couple. He glared when the male began to protest, then ignored them. “How long are we docking for? Heard Aria’s here. She’s usually good for some credits.”

“Yeah,” Jane said. “Tell the crew we’re docked until further notice. I have a meeting to make.”

“You need back up?” he asked.

“I’ll send word.” She stopped and grinned at him. “You want anything from Spectre requisitions?”

***

“Sorry, sir.”

“I thought this was fixed?”

“It was. It’s not that.”

“Are you sure? Coming back from the dead is usually the source of my headaches.”

“No, it’s just-- it says you’re already here, sir. There’s a record of you coming through this gate a few hours ago.”

“That doesn’t sound like me.”

“Ah... Just a moment.”

***

There was a vid screen near the Presidium playing the full footage from the Bahak incident. Garrus stopped to watch it unfold, head cocked to the side. He made a quiet sound of derision as the commentators began to analyze one of the infiltrator’s missed shots.

“You don’t agree with the analysts?” Shepard asked.

“She didn’t miss,” he said, shaking his head. He watched a second longer, eyes scanning the screen as the woman fought her way through the batarian guards. “She’s better than that. See there?” He pointed to a just visible body in the corner of the screen. “That was her target. It was out of frame, but she if missed, it was just a secondary target. That elite was her original target.”

“Secondary target? She was trying to get multiple kills with one bullet?”

“Yeah, she’s a miser.” He spread his mandibles slightly, cocked his head in an amused fashion. “...She hates to waste bullets,” he explained at the silence.

“Never waste three shots when one will do,” Shepard quipped.

Garrus turned his head, eyes amused. “Three?” he said.

“You said she was good,” Shepard pointed out.

“Maybe that good,” he agreed, thoughtfully, subharmonics humming as he considered it. Onscreen, the woman climbed a ladder, hunting for a nest. “We used to watch vids like this in training, as an example of how things should be done. It was usually veteran soldiers running combat sims. See there?” He nodded at the screen as the view settled with shocking steadiness. “That’s a hell of a perch. She’s got near perfect lines of sight to most of the area.”

They watched in silence as the scene cut from a Batarian prison to Arcturus Station. They both winced when a soldier caught the woman by surprise with a hard right hook.

“Sloppy,” Shepard said.  

"Can’t be good at everything,” Garrus said.

“Why not?”

Garrus laughed at that, cocked his head at the woman standing beside him. She was tall for a human woman, hair pulled carelessly back from her face. Even dressed casually, she was a striking figure, back straight, shoulders squared, waist narrow. She flashed him a smile, pleased by his laughter, and he saw the fire in her eyes. He’d been spending too much time around humans. Or maybe she was just beautiful.

“Garrus Vakarian,” he said.

“I know,” she said, looking past him. A krogan approached them, carrying a duffle bag. She flashed another dazzling smile at Garrus, tipped him a salute, and went to join the krogan.

Garrus watched her leave before he turned to go find out if John was done with the Council.

***

“Who was that?” Charr asked his captain as she approached.

“Just an old friend,” she said. “How do you feel?”

“Rejuvenated by the very sight of Ereba,” he said.

“You don’t owe me a thing, Charr. Stay with your wife. Raise your daughter.” She looked up at the krogan. “I appreciate the offer, but--”

“No. I owe you a debt that cannot be repaid. You granted my last wish-- to see her again, to hold her. I will fight by your side, Captain my captain, and return to her arms again once our foes are vanquished.” Charr picked up his bag again.

“Alright then. Let’s get you settled. Are you sure you’re a krogan?” she asked, bumping his shoulder with her own.

“I am asked that a lot,” he said. “But never by my enemies.”

***


	4. Reunion

John Shepard stepped out of Udina’s office and thought about taking up a career as a Varren Pit Boss. He could probably make good money doing it, he thought, but where would he spend it if the Reapers destroyed everything?

No, he was stuck being a soldier. If he didn’t stop the Reapers, he wouldn’t have anywhere to spend Urz’s winnings.

That made him smile, which helped with the tension in his shoulders and the headache building at the base of his neck. He needed to move faster. They had to find the Primarch immediately. He needed to figure out a way to bypass the asari and salarian councilors, gather supplies, check on Ashley, ask around about Oriana, hunt down Jane and find out what had happened with Harbringer and Bahak. There was that thermal pipe Adams wanted, his Carnifex needed a scope, the fish needed food, Traynor had made noise about power capacitors and... 

He looked at Liara, who closed her omnitool to fall into step with him. The meeting had gone longer than she’d anticipated, but not as long as it could have been.

“What type of soap was it you were looking for?” he asked.

“You’re thinking about soap?” she asked.

He shrugged and rolled his shoulder. “Udina’s hygiene isn’t the most attractive part of him.”

“What is?” Liara asked, smiling slightly.

 “Oh, his charm, for sure,” Shepard decided. “Or maybe his willingness to lend a hand when we’re in trouble. The way he keeps an open mind. The list is endless, really.”

“At least he’s trying to help us, now.” She sighed. “It’s better than nothing.”

“With that and a hundred credits, we can buy Harbringer a cup of coffee.” Shepard checked his omnitool as they walked, running through messages to see what fresh hell had erupted during the meeting. Aria wanted to meet. He forwarded the message on to Zaeed. He put one from Tali on speaker as they entered the elevator.

“Shepard, there’s a quarian ship here.” Her voice filled the elevator. Liara looked up from her own messages to listen. “I’m going to ask around and see who it is. I shouldn’t be longer than an hour.”

He shrugged and closed his omnitool. “Maybe she can get us some help.”

“The Fleet would be a great asset to the cause,” Liara agreed. “I have a few agents here I would like to meet with, if we have the time.”

He nodded. “Can you ask around about Oriana? She’s gone missing and Miranda’s worried.” 

Liara stepped out of the elevator. “Of course,” she said, standing just so the sensor kept the door open. Her brow creased slightly, looking at him. “Be careful, Shepard.”

That made him smile. “No promises,” he said.

He sent a blast message to the crew to report back to the Normandy within the next few hours for a debrief, but otherwise the universe seemed to hold the status quo while he rode down to the docks.

It was beginning to get crowded; refugees were starting to trickle in. It was going to get much, much worse, Shepard realized, scanning the crowd. He made a note to talk to Bailey about supplies and resources. Miranda was speaking with an agitated salarian, but there didn’t seem to be an immediate threat. Garrus and Vega were a respectable distance away, watching warily. 

“Any luck?” Garrus asked as he approached.

“As much as you’d expect. I’ve got a lead with the turians, though.” John shrugged, caught Miranda’s eye. She made a motion with her hand, signaling he should hold his position. 

He confirmed and leaned back on the railing, taking in the crowd from the new angle. Zaeed was talking to a group of mercenaries nearby, but waved at him; he nodded upwards. Shepard took that to mean he’d received the message. Jacob was deep in conversation with a pair of women in white jackets. He thought he saw a flicker that betrayed Kasumi, but he wasn’t sure. Content that the area was secure enough, he returned his gaze to Miranda and grinned when she tucked a hand behind her, signaled for him to back off. 

“You got to be the weirdest couple I ever saw,” Vega mused. “You know it ain’t normal to use hand signals with your girlfriend, loco.”

“Next, you’re going to tell me discussing war strategy isn’t really foreplay,” Shepard said. He watched Miranda end the conversation and approach them. She caught his gaze and hitched her walk, her hips swaying in invitation and challenge. 

The three men watched her with varying degrees of appreciation. She stopped before him, cocked a hip and lifted her chin slightly.

“See anything--”

Shepard reached out and jerked her close, caught her laughing mouth in a hard kiss. Rarely demonstrative in public and always aware of her own professionalism, but never one to back down from a challenge, she stepped in close, tilted her head up and melted into his arms. 

She made an excellent case for his Varren Pit Boss plan.

The sound of a concussive gunshot rang loud, even over the din of the crowd. The shot caught Miranda in the side, ripped her from his arms and flung her into a security desk.

A lot of guns appeared very quickly.

Shepard spun at the sound of the sniper popping the clip. He couldn’t see the shooter, but time seemed to stretch and slow as an empty clip appeared from thin air. It dropped to the ground, clattering in the silence that had fallen.

John kept his gun steady, adjusted for the angle of the clip. If it had been ejected at hip level, his best shot would be slightly higher. “Garrus?” he murmurred.

The turian made a soft, subvocal hum; nothing on his scanners. Whoever it was; they were good. Very good, to stand in front of them and not register on any of their defenses.

John felt the headache get worse. There were only a few people in the galaxy that good and one of them worked for him. The other...

Jane dropped her cloak and looked down the barrel of her brother’s pistol, eyes narrow and lips tight. She held a Black Widow loose at her side. Her gaze shifted to slightly over his shoulder.

“Miranda Lawson,” she said, finally. “I thought I killed you on Nepheron.”

“Lady Jane,” Miranda said, turning her head and spitting blood. “It’s nice to see you again.”

Jane slammed home a new clip, bringing up her rifle. Her attention turned to her brother, but her gun stayed on Miranda. “So, should I just assume the Illusive Man’s mind control chip is working perfectly?”

There was a sudden crack as skull met Phalanx and Phalanx won. John dropped his gun and caught Jane as she crumpled.

Kasumi flickered into sight, looked down at her, then at the approaching C-Sec officers. “That’s my cue,” she said and disappeared again.

“ _That’s_ your sister?” Vega asked, holstering his rifle. “Damn, Shepard, what are you worried about _me_ doing to her?”

***

“Kal?”

Sometimes, Kal thought, even unlucky bosh’tets caught a break. He turned away from arguing with the shopkeeper at Aegohr Munitions in time to catch Tali’Zorah as she launched herself at him.

She immediately regretted it, he could tell. He set her on her feet and she stepped back, made a motion as if she wanted to touch her hair, hide her face. He tilted his head slightly, enough to make his visor opaque, enough to hide his smile.

“Ma’am,” he said.

“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to--” she fumbled to a stop, took a breath. Squared her shoulders and smiled at him. He caught the flash of white behind her visor. “Kal. It is good to see you. What are you doing here?”

“Trying to fight a war,” he said, with a dark look at the shopkeep. The turian flared his mandibles, stood up straighter. Trying to be intimidating, but Kal was uninterested in the competition. He just wanted some damn mods.

“I don’t care what you’re doing, suit rat. Get out of here before you scare away paying customers,” the clerk said.

Kal shook his head and led Tali away. No reason for her to step in a mess like that. “We stopped to resupply before we head out to Palaven.”

“Palaven?” she said, tilting her head up to look at him. “Why?”

“Goodwill gesture,” he said, shrugging. “Seems some of the Fleet thinks we should lend a hand, after a turian helped save one of our admirals.”

“Really?” Tali stopped him with a light touch to his arm. “Who did they save?”

Kal looked down at her, then rubbed the heel of his hand over his chest, scratching the healing wound there. Made sense no one would tell her. That was the type of luck he had. “Ah, you, ma’am.”

***

“You might as well open your eyes,” Garrus said.

Jane thought it over, then did so, sitting up. She pushed her hair out of her eyes and looked at the turian.

“Garrus Vakarian,” she said.

“Lady Jane Shepard,” he said. He flared his mandibles and motioned between them. “I think we have that backward.”

She laughed, then held her head. “Oh, don’t make me laugh. What hit me?”

“A tiny Japanese girl with a penchant for kleptomania,” he said.

Jane’s mind raced. “Kasumi Goto knocked me out?” she asked.

“You know Kasumi?”

 “Pirate,” she said, waving a hand and hoping he’d be happy with that. “Good underworld connections come with the eye patch and parrot. Where am I?”

“The Normandy’s server room and unofficial brig.” He didn’t move from his spot near the door when she stood up, but she noticed he kept his hand on his rifle as he watched her stretch the kinks out of her back.

She arched a little more than necessary, giving him a show worth watching. She bounced once on the balls of her feet. “The Normandy,” she said, voice thoughtful. “He didn’t put me in cuffs? Is the rest of the crew waiting outside?”

“Just me,” he said, watching her prowl. She felt his gaze on her as she stood on the bench to test the ceiling, dropped back down to poke at one of the interface consoles. Locked out. Less interesting than he was, for sure. Her way out was probably through him. “I think Shepard muttered something about protecting your honor from Vega.”  

She stopped in front of him, a step too close, and slanted a look up at him. “And he thinks I’m safe with you?” she asked, close enough that he felt her breath over the tips of his mandibles. 

He dipped his head slightly. Up close, he smelled like gun oil and pine trees. She tilted her face up, inhaled the sharp scent of him.

Whatever he had been about to say was cut off by the click of his pistol against his breastplate. He cocked his head to find her holding his own gun on him.

“I don’t know how long I’ve been out,” she said, meeting his gaze. “But my crew is going to turn up soon and they’re not nearly as friendly as I am. I need you to--”

The sound of gunfire made them both turn, train their weapons on the door. 

“Shit,” she said, pushing past him. To her surprise, the doors opened. “Elevator?” 

He took point. “This way. Your crew, I assume?” he asked.

“Can you think of anyone else who’d attack an Alliance ship docked at the Citadel?” She leaned against the wall of the elevator and examined his pistol. Adjusted the sights slightly. It was an otherwise solid weapon, but not nearly as nice as the Black Widow she’d used on Miranda. A gun she was currently missing. She’d bet money John had already returned it to its rightful owner.

“If that ship were the Normandy? Yes, actually.” He looked up. “EDI, what’s happening?”

“It appears that Lady Jane’s crew has entered negotiations with Miranda,” a voice said from overhead. Jane looked at the speaker and made note of it. 

Everything froze at the howling, echoing scream of a banshee. 

“Dammit!” Jane squeezed out of the elevator before the doors had a chance to fully open on the CIC, running headlong into Inali’s path. She stopped, held up both hands, gun useless against the woman’s barriers. 

“Stand down!” she shouted, hoping Randall was close enough to hear. “Inali! Randall--”

A blue blur caught Inali around the waist, held her as she struggled and screamed. Randall’s biotics flared to meet Inali’s, feeding her draining field, his attention divided between the guns trained on them and his captain. He met Jane’s gaze over her shoulder. “What the hell?” he asked.

“Captain?” Aeian asked, voice uncertain. Her eyes were melting black around the edges, gun wavering between another asari and Miranda. She took a step back, closer to Charr, who had a shotgun on...Hell. Jacob Taylor. More Cerberus.

“Stand down,” she said again, watching Randall to make sure he understood she meant it. She turned away, showed the Normandy crew that she was putting down the pistol in her hands. She didn’t see John, and she suspected Miranda wasn’t going to try that hard to make a good impression, if she had the chance for revenge. She moved slowly, held up her empty hands.

“It’s okay,” she told her crew, surrounded and outnumbered by Alliance soldiers and Cerberus operatives, guns trained on them from every angle and a half-mad banshee ready to kill them all.

She finally found her brother, pushing through the crowd on the bridge. She exhaled. “They’re family.” 

John stopped in front of her, eyeing Inali warily. “Stand down,” he told his crew.

“Shepard,” Miranda started.

“Stand _down_ ,” he snapped, voice cracking across the bridge like a whip. Weapons fell away immediately. “Non-essential crew are dismissed. Clear the bridge. Jane--”

She smiled at him, shrugged. “You said to call,” she said.

“You shot Miranda and attacked my ship!” he said.

  Randall shifted his weight, braced himself as Inali tried to rip herself free. He felt her gathering energy to warp his fields, wreathing them both in light. “Not that this isn’t goddamn interesting, Lady Jane, but if you don’t want them dead, I’m gonna need some help.”

“I think I can be of some assistance,” an older woman said, approaching them slowly. She held up her hands and looked at John.  

“Dr. Chakwas,” he said, by way of introduction. “She’s our resident doctor.”

Randall eyed the woman as she approached. “Like hell,” he said, taking a step back and twisting so Inali was shielded by his bulk. Aeian stepped in front of him, gun still at the ready, blocking Chakwas.  

“Enough!” Jane pressed her fingertips to her forehead. “Charr! Contact Pella and tell her to stop targeting the Normandy,” she said. “Aeian, it’s okay. She’s not here to hurt us.” She put a hand on the asari’s arm, held on until the huntress dropped her gun and turned her head to look at Jane. 

“Help Charr,” Jane said, quietly. “Go help Charr.”

Aeian’s eyes flicked between them before she nodded and fell back. Jane sidestepped Inali’s swipe to take the hypodermic from Chakwas. “I’ll test it, Randall.”

  “She’s Alliance,” Randall growled.

“Which means she knows what she’s doing,” Jane countered, running her omnitool over the hypo. It tested clean. “Clean. Just a sedative.”

“Something I could have told you, had you asked,” Dr. Chakwas said. “Now do let me help that poor woman.”

“Not helping, doc,” Jane said to Chakwas. “Rand, she’s not going to come back from this easy.”

Randall curled his lip, but let the doctor approach and administer the sedative. It worked almost immediately. Inali sagged against Randall. He tucked her close and swapped his pistol for his shotgunl. Jane took it as a good sign that he didn’t point it at anyone.

“Maybe we should try this again,” John said, exhaling. He took a step forward and snagged Jane, catching her in a hug. “Hey, lady.”

She wrapped her arms around her brother, pressed her face into his shoulder. “Nice ship,” she said into his shoulder. “Can I have it?”

“No,” he said, releasing her. He held her at arm’s length and examined her, while she did the same.

 “You look like shit,” she said.

“I was put on trial for treason,” he said. “And there’s a Reaper invasion on.”

 She rolled her eyes. “Always the excuses, with you.”


	5. Gemini Ascendant

The Shepard twins stood before the galaxy and discussed war.

Randall was struck by how damn alike they were, when he stepped off the Normandy’s elevator. Shepard had sent him to settle Inali on the ship, fetch Pella to join them. The quarian paused beside him as they both took in the scene. The entire _Nedas_ could probably have fit on the bridge of the Normandy, but it was crowded despite that.

Commander John Shepard’s crew ringed the virtual interface, vastly outnumbering them, broken only by Aeian and Charr. They stood beside Lady Jane, Aeian’s hand on Charr’s arm, fingers tapping his armor restlessly. Better than her gun, Randall supposed, rubbing the dull ache in his shoulder. He’d wrenched it earlier, twisted wrong. It wouldn’t hurt him in a fight if everything went bad again, but it wasn’t going to help him any, either. 

Jane stood on the upraised platform leading to the interface. She twisted as Randall joined them, nodded to Pella. “John, my pilot, Pella’Geth vas Nedas. You met my first mate earlier, Randall Ezno.”

“Pella,” the quarian said, stopping on Aeian’s other side. She was wearing her visor, uncomfortable off the ship without it, and it was nearly opaque, mostly covered by armor plating. Her suit was red, completely free of adornment.

She always said it reminded her of home.

She touched the small of Aeian’s back, felt her tremble. She left her hand where it was. The other woman leaned into the touch, settling, more relaxed with her crew flanking her.

John nodded to them and went back to contemplating the map, ticking off information for Traynor to include, markers and flags appearing as he relayed the bits of information that seemed to cling to him like burrs, whenever he went to the Citadel. Beside him, Jane had been working on her omnitool, doing the same. Her flags appeared without Traynor’s help, following the same code. Red for priority targets, blue for possible assets, black for known Reaper attacks, yellow for secondary gains.

Randall stopped in front of Jacob Taylor, who stood on Charr’s other side. It was a deliberate pick; it put him across from Miranda Lawson and gave him excellent lines of sight on both ex-Cerberus operatives. John caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and nudged his sister with his hip, watching the two men size each other up. Jane glanced over and shook her head. Randall would only go against her orders to stand down if they threatened Inali, and the woman was safe on the _Nedas._

“Taylor,” Randall said. 

“Ezno,” Jacob returned. “Was that Inali?”

Randall glanced over his shoulder, toward the _Nedas_ ’ relative location. “Yeah.” He leaned on the rail ringing the interface, clearly uninterested in continuing the conversation. 

“You forgot Horizon,” he told Jane. 

“Right,” Jane said, looking up to scan the map. She added a flag.

“What’s on Horizon?” Traynor asked.

“You must’ve missed the last Lawson Christmas letter, girlie,” Randall said. “Horizon’s Daddy Lawson’s new pet project.”

Miranda leaned forward, gaze sharp on Randall. “What are you talking about?”

“Sanctuary is a Cerberus operation,” Jane said, lowering her omnitool. “Henry Lawson is involved, but we’re not sure how. We were planning on hitting it soon. Rumor is that they’re continuing the testing started at the Barn.” 

“The Barn was a research facility focusing on asari and turian countermeasures,” Miranda said. “Did that change?”

“No, Inali signed up to be tortured,” Randall snarled. “Of course it goddamn changed. They started testing those results on their own.”

“It didn’t bother you before that?” Garrus asked.

“No,” Randall said, meeting the turian’s gaze. “It didn’t.”

“Palaven’s our highest priority,” Jane said, eyes focused on the map, ending the conversation before it could really begin. “If we need to wage war, we need the turians. Everyone else combined won’t touch the Reapers, otherwise.”

“If I can talk to the Primarch, we have a chance of making that happen,” John said. “But turians and humans won’t be enough.”

“No,” Charr rumbled. “The unstoppable force of the Reapers must meet an immovable object. You will need the krogan, Commander.”

“Unless we are fighting on Tuchanka, you will also need a way to bring them to the front lines,” Pella said. “Ships, pilots, fuel.”

“You think Wrex would help?” Garrus asked John.

“Yeah,” he said. “If I could talk him into meeting with us.”

“Urdnot Wrex is a strong leader. He has already begun to unite the krogan under one flag. There is nothing better to inspire friendship than a common enemy,” Charr mused. “It would be a good plan and useful to his political aspirations.”

“By conservative estimates, the krogan will not be a major influence upon our current chances against the Reapers,” EDI said.

“EDI,” John said to the confused _Nedas_ crew, by way of absent introduction. “You’re sure about that?”

“Yes, Shepard,” EDI said.

“The true strength of the krogan is crippled,” Charr agreed, shifting his weight and considering the map laid out before them. “The genophage. Krogan are unstoppable only when they are unshackled.”

“Reversing the genophage changes several factors,” EDI said. “It would significantly impact the odds, but possibly cause long-term issues.”

“Wrex would be all for it, though,” John mused.

“And there isn’t a long term, if we don’t stop the Reapers in the short term,” Jane agreed. She rolled out her shoulder, worked a crick out of her neck. “It needs to be considered.”

“It would rule out the salarians,” Liara said. “Even you can’t convince them to uplift the krogan again, Shepard.”

“And we need engineers,” Aeian said, eyes flicking back and forth, every time someone moved so much as a breath. “To build your weapon, you need engineers, right? The more the better? That’s the salarians.” The elevator doors opened behind them, immediately snagging Aeian’s attention.

John braced his hands on the railing. “What if we went to the geth?”

“They might be busy,” Tali said, joining them. Kal’Reegar followed her, offered a nod to Shepard. “The Fleet declared war on the geth. They are trying to reclaim the homeworld.”

“Reclaim it?” Pella asked.  

“Did you know about this?” Jane asked her.

 “No, they didn’t mention it the last time I spoke with them.” She looked between Tali and Kal. “I do not recognize you.”

“Tali’Zorah vas Normandy,” she said. 

“Admiral,” Kal corrected.

She looked at him, looked away. Touched the crown of her visor as she shook her head. “ _Admiral_ Tali’Zorah vas Normandy, now.”

“Admiral?” John asked. “That’s new.”

“Apparently not so much,” Tali said with a sigh. “Shepard, I hate to ask this, but I need to return to the Fleet.”

“Of course,” he said. “Congratulations.”

Jane glanced between the three of them and raised an eyebrow. “Admiral. Does that mean we have the Fleet on our side?”

“No,” Tali said. “But I can try to influence them.”

There was a lull while John introduced Tali and Kal to the _Nedas_ crew, broken when he introduced Pella.

“Pella’ _Geth_ vas Nedas?” Tali asked.

Pella looked away. Aeian tensed, uneasy with Pella’s discomfort, fidgeted with her gun, still holstered. 

“It’s a long story,” Pella said. 

“No, it isn’t,” Aeian said.

Pella laid a hand on her wrist, stilling its restless movement on the gun. “Much too long for a war summit. Lady Jane, I can provide Admiral Tali’Zorah with passage and speak to my people while there.”

“Is that safe?” Jane asked, eyeing the other two quarians.

“As safe as anything else we are planning. I would need the _Nedas_ , though, or another ship.” 

“No, ma’am, Tali already has a ship,” Kal said. “One of the squads I came with is going back as an escort.”

“Do you have room for Pella?” John asked him, exchanging a long look with his sister. The story might have been too long for a war summit, but Jane had a look that said it was important her pilot went with Tali.

“Yes, sir,” Kal said. 

“There,” Traynor said. She updated the interface a final time. There were five red flags, top priority targets. Tuchanka, Palaven, the Fleet, Horizon, and Eden Prime.

“Pella and Tali will go to the Fleet,” she said, indicating their marks on the flag. 

“I want to go, too,” Aeian said, twisted her head to look at her captain. “I want to go with them. Quarians don’t look like humans. I can help them.”

Jane looked at Pella to confirm, then nodded. “Aeian will join them.”

“I’ll investigate Horizon,” Miranda said. “I had a lead that placed Oriana there, but hadn’t been able to verify it.”

“I’ll back you up,” Jacob said.

“I think I can handle it on my own,” Miranda said. 

Jane shook her head. “Take Jacob. We were going to use a four man team, anyway. Randall?”

“Word was, if there’s help for Inali, it’ll be on Horizon,” he said, staring at the dot. “There’re a couple good people there, too, scientists that might be worth recruiting. Just leaves you with Charr for back-up.”

She shook her head. “I promised to help you, and I keep my promises, Randall. Besides, the four of you probably stand the best chance of infiltrating a Cerberus base.” 

“John?” Miranda asked, looking at John.

He nodded, made a slight motion with his hand that seemed to mollify her. “Take Jacob.” 

“Liara, you, Kasumi, and Samara investigate Eden Prime,” he continued, considering. “Vega, if I get you a ship, do you think you can pilot it without going kamikaze?”

Vega grinned. “Not a problem, loco.”

“Good. That leaves Tuchanka and Palaven.”

“Both of which require you,” Garrus said. “I might be able to convince the primarch, but...”

“But it’s easier with the holy Commander Shepard preaching the Kill The Reaper Gospel,” Jane said. “Does the primarch know you?” 

John shook his head. “Not the new one, not any more than anyone else.”

“So, we run it like we used to on Earth,” Jane said.

“How’s that?” Vega asked.

Jane snapped to attention. “Commander John Shepard, sir. Nice to meet you. I need you to abandon your home and come with me to fight the boogeymen.” 

“I don’t sound like that,” John said.

  “No offense, Lola, but there is _no_ way anyone is mistaking you two,” Vega said. “Even a turian’s gonna be able to tell you’re all woman. Back me up, Scars.”

Garrus considered her thoughtfully. “He has a point,” he said.

“Give me a few hours to alter some armor and a full helmet with a voice modulator,” Jane said. “It’ll work fine. Garrus can do most of the talking.”

“You’ll need more back up than that,” John said, narrowing his eyes at her. 

“I think I can help with that,” Kal’Reegar said. “Got five squads with me, all of us with orders to go to Menae. With an admiral’s authority, I can loan you one to help with Horizon, too.” 

“Granted,” Tali said, grinning. “We can work out the jurisdiction of that, later.”

“Five squads?” John asked.

 Kal shrugged. “Apparently, you survive long enough, they promote you to commander.”

“Yeah, I know how that goes.” John’s smile was lopsided. “And I hit Tuchanka.”

 “I would join you, if you will have me,” Charr said. “Perhaps I can be of assistance.”

John nodded, scanned the map one last time. “How long?” he asked the group. 

“We need a few hours to coordinate, find ships, weapons,” Jane said, glancing at her people. “Six hours?”

“Four,” John said, looking at Kal in question. “We need to move fast on this. Millions are dying on Earth every minute.”

“We’ll be ready,” Kal said.

“Four hours,” Jane agreed. “Let’s--”

There was a large crash and the ship went dark.


	6. Differences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lonnnnng chapter. Explicit sexual content in the first part.

“We should go, I think we should go,” Aeian said, shifting her weight uneasily. “I don’t have enough ammo for this.”

“We’re not shooting anyone, Aeian,” Pella murmured, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Aeian, look at me. This ship is friendly, secure. You are safe.”

Aeian shook her head, avoided looking at Pella. Pella’s mask was too dark. She liked to look at Pella, not her mask. She was pretty, not like a human at all, not really, nothing like Neiara. The haze behind the mask was soothing to look at sometimes, but she couldn’t focus on it now. A banshee wailed with every hum of the ship, in every shadow. She couldn’t keep anything in focus. 

“No, it isn’t safe, it isn’t friendly,” Aeian said, irritated. “Why didn’t you just tell them? Why did you let them think you’re a traitor? They think that. They think your name is wrong.” She felt rage in the back of her throat, at the judgement in the other quarians, the way they’d looked at Pella.

Pella shook her head and caught Aeian by both cheeks to still her. “They just think I am odd, is all. You know how they will react to my past, Aeian. Now is not the time for old quarrels.”

“But we’re going there, with them,” Aeian said, but she looked at Pella, focused on her instead of the anger. “They’ll know.”

“I will deal with that when I must,” Pella said, shrugging. “Come, let’s talk to the pilot. I would like to see the cockpit of this ship. It is beautiful.”

“No,” Aeian said, shaking off Pella’s hands, then reaching out to touch her again, pulling her hand back before she felt the smooth fabric of her suit. She was losing it. Again. She shook off the feelings of agitation best she could. “Yeah, okay. What color are my eyes?”

“Blue, _dragot’seya_ ,” Pella said.

Aeian stopped, looked at her, shifted her weight. Looked at the cockpit, then back at her. “What’s dragot’seya?”

“Dearling,” Pella said. Aeian followed her into the cockpit.

The pilot turned in his chair and Aeian began to scream.

***

Randall stepped off the elevator and into the cargo hold of the _Nedas_. He ached; his head was starting to throb in a way that meant he’d been overusing his implants and his shoulder wasn’t quiet about its displeasure with him. He was getting too damn old to fight the way he did. He’d probably fall apart or die soon, he supposed, because he was definitely too old to learn a new combat style.

The Normandy crew was on their ship, dealing with whatever their issues were. Jane had gone off to find a voice modulator. Charr and Pella had barely been able to talk Aeian back to the Nedas without a blood bath. Four hours until they had to report. He tried to remember the last time he’d slept and came up blank.

He remembered Jacob, though, a couple of the other ex-Cerb faces that appeared on the Normabdy. Mostly, he remembered silence when he’d called for help, frantic to find anyone who could help Inali. Even after he’d started offering up intel in exchange for her life, there had been a lot of unanswered messages. It had been a volus to put him in touch with Jane. So much for the brotherhood of the human race.

He tried to shake off the pity party that was their past as he padded deeper into the hold, looking for Inali. He flashed on old panic when he couldn’t find her.

She was safe on the _Nedas_ , he knew. Jane hated Cerberus more than anyone he knew, more than Inali and he combined, and her ship was a deathtrap to anyone with a kind thought toward the Illusive Man. But the memories of not getting to Inali in time still haunted him, hounded his thoughts. 

The sound of running water came as a relief.

He followed the sound to its source; showers in the locker room, tucked in the far corner of the hold. He could see her from the doorway, in the open enclosure of the showers. Inali had her back to him, her head tilted up to catch the full force of the spray. Her armor, never further from her than his was from him, lay in a heap by the lockers like an elcor’s discarded molt.

Scars crisscrossed her back, ripped jagged threads over her shoulders, along her spine. There was a fine tracery of blue and red light under her skin now, abstract patterns detailing the horrors Cerberus had put her through and marking off every second he had spent hunting turians instead of finding her. She had given him his implants, always taking care with the scars. Her work of art, she said, though no one could accuse him of being pretty.

The scars were beautiful on her, even if they were a reminder of the pain he owed the Illusive Man. They twined across her hips, wrapped around her thighs and shot down to her ankles, across the tops of her feet. The water refracted the light and made her glow.

She was starting to come back. Her hair was growing in. He liked the fuzz, but knew she missed her longer hair. Her appetite had returned after a while, and she was starting to put on weight again, not that she’d ever be a particularly large woman.   He could see the woman he’d first met, years ago, in her now. He thought he’d lost her for a long time.

_’So, you’re the Big Bad Randall Ezno. I’m Inali, your new handler.’_

_‘You think you can handle me, little girl?’_

_‘You should be so lucky, babe.’_

He took a step forward and let the door slide shut behind him. Inali started, but her eyes were clear when she looked at him. Instead of going savage, she shrank behind the partition, trying to hide. 

“Randall!” she protested.

He stopped immediately, but rolled his eyes at her. “What? Get back under the water, you daft thing. I’ve seen it before.”

“That--” She looked down. “That doesn’t mean I want you to see it now,” she finished.

He leaned against the partition between them, ducked his head so he could catch her gaze. “Hey. _Hey,_ ” he repeated, when she avoided his eyes. She lifted her eyes to meet his. “You want me to go?”

She exhaled. “I’m a mess, Rand. Of course I don’t want you to see me naked.”

“You still got less scars than me,” he pointed out. She hadn’t said no. “I can tell you tried to go big leagues, girlie, but you gotta fight some krogan if you really want the really good scars.” 

He pulled up his sleeve, shifting his sore shoulder so she could see his arm. The entire bicep was wrapped in scar tissue, warped skin, and old tech implants. It was an ugly mess by any standards. “See that?” he asked. “That’s a scar. You’ve just got... decoration.”

She snorted a laugh, reached out to touch his arm. She traced the familiar scar tissue with her fingertips, touch careful along the bright seems. They’d been red for a while, but he’d noticed they started to glow blue, lately. Hadn’t been a lot of time to ask her about it.

“I thought you were going to lose that arm,” she said. 

“Nah, I had a good tech to patch me up,” he said. He reached behind himself and pulled off his shirt. She stepped away when he toed off his boots.

He stopped. “You want me to go?” he asked again. 

“No,” she said, though he wasn’t sure if she was answering him or convincing herself. She stepped back under the water while he stripped off his kit. She watched through spiky eyelashes as he stepped into the shower and turned on a second head.

He was too damn old to be self-conscious, too scarred and beaten to really worry about his looks. Besides, she’d seen him much worse off, bleeding and beaten, fresh from the field. He scrubbed a hand over his head, flicked water at her. “See anything you like?”

“What did you do to your shoulder?” she asked.

He grimaced. “Nothing. Just pulled it earlier.”

“Trying to hold me,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself.

He stepped into her space, caught her chin in his hand. “Hey, there are much worse ways to get hurt,” he said. “Trust me, I know most of them.”

She looked up at him, still too skinny, too scarred, too hurt. He frowned down at her, reminded of how badly he’d messed up. He should have found her as soon as the alarms had gone off, killing turians be damned. He should have kept her safe.

“Look at you,” he murmured, sliding his hand down her neck, over her shoulder. She let him coax her arm away from her body, didn’t protest when his hand came to rest on her hip. He urged her forward, closer to him. “Damn, you’re a beautiful thing. You were always the best part of my missions.”

Her laugh was breathless, but familiar. “Don’t lie to me, Ezno.”

“You think I’m lying?” he said. He bent his head to her, nipped at her bottom lip. “Guys used to beg me to get in on missions, because they knew you’d end up running the whole thing. Half my implants were an excuse to get your hands on me.” He lifted his head, stroked a hand over the damp fuzz on her head, studying the skin under its path with careful scrutiny. “Put your hands on me, darlin’.”

She did, pressing her palms to his chest to brace herself as she went on tiptoe to kiss him, return his gentle bite with a more vicious one. He smiled against her mouth and pulled her close to kiss her proper. 

She still tasted the same, like mint and something undeniable, indescribable. He backed her into the wall and took the kiss deeper, his hands slipping up her body to find pert breasts. He palmed one, pressed her nipple between his knuckles.

She gasped into his mouth, broke the kiss to stare at him, wide-eyed. “Randall--” she said, stuttered when he rolled her nipple. He nudged her legs apart with one of his own. 

Sex was funny for her, sometimes. He’d had two fingers inside of her when she’d tried to rip his head off, last time. Made for an interesting time, but he’d learned to pay closer attention to her; a gasp of pleasure and a gasp of despair could sound damn similar. He cocked his head in question, but didn’t stop.

“No,” she whispered, reaching up to pull his head back down. “It’s good,” she said against his lips.

“Better than that,” he agreed, teasing the tight bud, blunt fingers rough on delicate skin. “You’re a goddamn dream.”

She laughed and her head fell back as his mouth roamed. Hungry for the taste of her, and determined to make her forget her pain for at least a moment, he followed the lines of scarring down her neck, over her shoulder, then replaced fingers with lips. He licked water off the top of her breast before ducking his head and catching her nipple in his mouth. She tangled her fingers in his hair and arched into him, restless with need and pleasure. Her nails weren’t far from claws, not anymore, and pricked pain against his skull. He ignored it easily enough, for the taste of her skin. He rolled her nipple with his tongue, sucked it between his lips. When he pulled away, he blew on it, felt her shiver go all the way to the core of her. 

“A goddamn dream,” he repeated, going to his knees to kiss the twin knots of scar tissue on her hips. “You remember the last time I caught you in the locker room?”

She looked down at him, brow furrowed. “No,” she said.

He grinned up at her. “I do. You’d just finished installing the L-9 upgrade on my omnitool.”

He watched her face as she placed the memory. Her eyes went wide. “The cloak?” she asked. “You spied on me!”

“Watched you get yourself off in the shower,” he agreed, touching two fingers to her navel. He held them lightly and traced down, until he found the curls between her legs, flicked his fingers over them in distant echo of what he’d watched her do, years before. “What were you thinking about, then?”

He watched her blush spread across her cheeks to the tops of her breasts. He parted her folds, found the small bud of her clitoris. “I don’t remember,” she lied, pressing her shoulders into the wall. She looked up, avoiding his gaze, and he grinned.

“Liar,” he said, pressing down but not moving his hand, easily adapting to her restless hips and robbing her of the friction she wanted. “Were you thinking about me?” he asked and shifted his fingers slightly, eliciting a gasp and fire from her.

She shook her head, tried to hide her face in her shoulder. “You know I was,” she whispered. “Randall, please...”

He leaned forward, bit her boney hipbone as he circled his fingertip around the little bud of nerves. “I know I was thinking about you. You’re such a tight little thing.” He dipped a finger inside her, curled it forward. 

She slid down the wall, bending her knees and spreading her legs. It pushed his finger deeper into her, made her moan. He smiled when he found himself face to face with her. She lifted her hips to meet the thrust of his fingers as he worked them inside of her.

“Hi there,” he said to her, watching her breath stutter as he pet her. He flicked her clit with his thumb, making her curl forward.

She bit her lip. “You really watched me?” she asked.

“Couldn’t get enough of it,” he said. 

“You could at least pretend to have some shame,” she said, crawling into his lap. He settled her astride him, lifted his head to meet her kiss. She bit his lip when he stopped moving his fingers and pulled them free. 

He turned his head to lick the taste of her from his fingertips. “No point to it, sweetheart. I’m pretty damn rotten.” He made a low sound, deep in his throat. “You’re sweet as sugar.” He caught her mouth again, let her taste herself on him.

She dragged him closer, rocking her hips against his. His cock nudged at her and she rolled her hips down, rubbing against him until he caught her hips in his hands, tightened his grip when she sought to tease him more. 

“You want me to go?” he asked, his voice rough. It cost him to ask this time, but if she kept up, he was going to fuck her into the floor, whether she could handle it or not. 

She sobbed out a laugh, wrapping her arms around his neck and tangling her fingers in his hair. “Randall, if you go now, I _will_ kill you.” 

“I love it when you talk dirty,” he said. 

She fit him like a glove, her body perfect, welcoming. He slid into her, seated deep inside of her. For a second, neither of them could move, caught up in the first, breathless rush, the agonizing perfection of it. His head fell to her shoulder, breath hot on her breast as he let her adjust, felt the walls of her contract and tighten around him. His hands slid up, over the slick curve of her back, following the fine arch. He pulled her closer.

Her laughter was low and warm. It wrapped around him, grabbed him by the balls and refused to let go. It was a sound of unconditional carnal pleasure.

“Yes,” she husked, and began to _move_ , undulating in his grasp, hips rolling as she rode him. She raked her nails across his shoulders when he shifted to meet her downward thrust, a vicious demand for more. He lifted his head to watch her; she ran a hand over her breasts, down her stomach and between their bodies to find her clit, rubbing in time with every movement. He moved in a rush, reversing their positions, laying her out on the tile floor and covering her slim body with his own.

He slammed his fist into the tile when it began to be too much, the pain of split knuckles chasing away his pleasure so he could watch her find her own. She turned her head languidly, caught in the maelstrom of building heat and pleasure, unconcerned by the shattering ceramic. He wouldn’t hurt her, wouldn’t let anything hurt her ever again, and when she fell over the edge, he held her.

She wrapped her legs around his hips, pressed her shoulders into the tile floor and bucked up, sparking the storm of her orgasm as he thrust into her. He ground his bleeding fist into the cracked tile. His lips were close enough to taste, catch her scream of pleasure and muffle it. She gasped against his mouth, tried to turn away when he replaced her hand with his own.

It was too much, too soon, but he was demanding more, voice a low growl as he drove her up again, sent her shattering. The second orgasm was cruel on the heels of the first, as relentless he was. She sobbed, raking her nails down his back, over his hip, trying to tear free. 

He laughed low in triumph and slapped his palm against the tile, giving relief to bleeding knuckles. Without the tether of pain, he was quick to follow her, his own release intense enough to snap light across his skin, biotics pale blue, harmless and hissing under the water.

He was careful of his weight, still, when his body wanted nothing more than to rest on her, find sleep. She stroked her fingers up his back, lifted them when her she encountered torn flesh. She raised her head to look at the blood.

“Claws,” she said, bleak.

He turned his head and caught her bloody hand with his own, held them both under the water. “Nah, just a little sharper than usual.” He rinsed the blood from her fingers before he shoved himself upright with a lazy sigh.

It didn’t take long to wash the blood off himself. He wrapped his hand in his shirt and snagged a towel to bring back to her. She let him help her stand, but wouldn’t look at him. He brushed her hands aside and dried her off carefully, kneeling to dry her legs.

“Jane’s sending us to Horizon,” he said, focused on her ankle. “Lawson and Taylor are coming with us.”

She stroked her hand through his hair, over the back of his neck. “Are you going to be okay with that?”

“I’ll suffer worse, if it’ll end up helping you,” he said, kissing her stomach. He stood up and wrapped her in the towel. 

She nodded. “Come on, let’s get your hand fixed.” She caught him by the wrist, focused on her job-- patching him back together.

***

Kal watched Tali greet his squad, exchanging gossip, catching up on news from home. She was at ease around the men, comfortable on the ship. His ship, he supposed, though it was still odd to think of it like that. 

Be nice to have a job watching her, again. Until he’d lost his squad, it had been a good assignment, guarding Tali. She worked hard and didn’t hesitate to bounce her ideas off his thick skull. Smarter than most everyone else he’d met, combined. She was a woman worth more than the other Admirals thought.

 She broke away from her conversation with Dar’Rogan, crossing the cargo bay to where he leaned against a crate of supplies, watching them. There wasn’t much room down here, but more than there’d been on the way to the Citadel. Kal tilted his head enough to hide the fact that he was watching her hips as she walked toward him. She had probably seen the move enough to know what it meant. He took it as a good thing when she slowed slightly.

“Kal, do you think this is a good idea, bringing them?” she asked. “I mean, Pella’ _Geth_?”

“Trusted Shepard this far,” he said, shrugging. “No reason not to, now. You’ll have a squad of my best with you. Wouldn’t put you in danger, ma’am.”

“Tali,” she corrected.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I remember.” 

She swatted at his arm, laughing softly. He shifted slightly when she hopped up to sit on the crate he was leaning against. “You aren’t coming with us?” she asked. 

He felt her fingers on his helmet, shifting one of the intake lines that never quite laid flat. The touch was brisk, businesslike, but the gesture was intimate. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of it, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as geth shooting at him, that was for sure. 

“Orders were to aid Palaven,” he said, watching his men prepare to disembark. “Didn’t anticipate finding our lost Admiral along the way.” He leaned back on his elbows. His arm pressed against her thigh. “Wasn’t sure you’d survived, to be honest. Hoped.”

She looked down at him, hand resting on his suit, fingertips on the wayward line. He could feel the pressure but not the touch.

“They voted me an admiral when they weren’t sure I was alive?” she asked, then shook her head. “No, that sounds exactly right.” She sighed. “How can I be an admiral, Kal? There must be a better choice.”

“Got to disagree with you there, ma’am,” he said. “Think you’re just what they need. You know the geth better than most and you’re always thinking about what’s best for everyone. We could use a few more like you and a few less like Han’Gerral.”

She was silent a minute, long enough he thought about taking back what he’d said. She’d never minded when he spoke his mind before, but it’d been a while since he last saw her.

 “Thank you, Kal,” she said. They stayed in silence a moment before she added: “Commander?”

He shrugged. “Lost another squad, fighting the geth off one of our ships. I lose another one, they might make me an Admiral.” He couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice. It sounded brittle, to his own ears.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. She laid a hand on his shoulder, looked down at him. “I am sure you did everything you could.”

“Maybe,” he said, looking away. “Should have taken Shepard’s offer to leave. Guess I’m getting a second chance to die fighting Reapers.”

“Don’t talk like that,” she said. “We’re going to beat the Reapers, Kal’Reegar, and we will eventually breathe the air of the homeworld.”

He snorted, a mirthless laugh, lifted his head to look up at her again. _Keelah_ , she was beautiful, even hidden from the world by her suit. “Yes, ma’am. But first you have to go convince the other admirals we have bigger problems.”

“Come with me,” she blurted. She pulled her hand away, twisting her fingers together and looking away from him. “The Marines respect you, I mean. The Heavy Fleet might listen, if you were to help me. Don’t,” her voice went stern, “give me that _khul_ about being just a soldier, Kal. Your men respect you, and I need help.”

He had been about to say just that, he realized, and shut his mouth. She wasn’t looking at him, nervously rubbing her hands together, and he thought about listening to his men die on a ship overrun with geth, cursing himself as a fool for not following a pretty scientist to a better death.

He looked back at his men. 

“Can’t have an admiral traveling unprotected,” he said, finally.

“You’ll come?” she asked. 

“Yes, Tali,” he said.

***

It took just under three hours to sort out EDI’s hardware upgrade, (or downgrade, really, Jane couldn’t consider the new platform better than the Normandy herself,) talk Aeian down, (with the help of Charr, Pella, and another sedative,) run through briefings with the teams, find pilots for everyone, ships for everyone, and coordinate communications.

It left them little over an hour to turn Jane into John.

The twins stood in front of the locker in the shuttle bay, considering their options. 

“Armax Arsenal,” Jane said, groaning. “If you knew how to _duck_ , you wouldn’t need to wear a tank, you know.”

“If I lend you a shotgun, are you going to hurt yourself with it?” John asked, handing her a breastplate. 

“Ha ha,” she deadpanned. “If you were a good shot with _one_ type of gun, maybe you wouldn’t need to carry an entire armory around.”

“Speaking of,” John knelt to help her with her greaves. “Where did you get that Black Widow?”

“Hey, I heard your Spectre status was reinstated,” Jane said, brightly. “We should celebrate by talking about something else.”

***

“No way, scars,” Vega said. “Just ain’t no way.”

“I don’t know,” Garrus said. “She might pull it off. Never known Shepard to fail at something.” 

“Damn, I hope she pulls it _all_ off. That is one fine looking woman.” Vega leaned back against the counter of the mess. They were waiting for the twins to return. A matching pair of black duffles rested on the table of the mess-- soldiers everywhere packed the same, it seemed, no matter their species. Vega suspected Garrus’ bag was packed with extra clips. He’d known the turian for a while now and had yet to see him in civvies.

“Hmm,” Garrus said. He was lounging against the table, kitted out for all out war. “What’s the spread on Shepard killing you for hitting on his sister?” 

“Some things are worth the risk, no?” Vega asked. His gaze shifted past Garrus, who twisted to look at what had caught his eye.

It was like seeing double. Shepard strode toward them in stereo-- with armor hiding her curves and a fully masked helmet, it was impossible _not_ to see the similarities between the twins. They both moved like they were on a mission, the efficient grace of a combat veteran and the confidence of a born leader. They stopped in unison, they saluted in unison.

“Commander John Shepard reporting,” they said, snapping to attention.

Vega let out a low whistle. “Damn, Loco. Or are you Lola?”

“That one’s Jane,” Garrus said after a moment, indicating one of the matched pair. 

She turned her attention to him. “What gave it away?”

“Your waist is slightly better... ah, formed,” Garrus said, faltering when John snapped off his helmet and pointed at Garrus in silent warning. 

“That’s my sister,” Jane said, the modulator picking up John’s tone perfectly. “Watch yourself. I will shoot you with one of my eight million guns. I will shoot everything. Guns are awesome. Shoot everything!”

“I never run out of things to shoot,” John said. 

“Or things to shoot them with,” Jane said, pulling off her own helmet. “What do you think? Can I fool the uneducated eye?”

“I think so. Will you be able to fight in that armor?” Garrus asked, plates above his eyes pressed down in a turian frown. “There isn’t a lot of good news coming from Palaven. It’s a mess down there.”

“I can fight in anything,” Jane said, grinning at him. “ Or nothing. Just try to keep up. We leave in thirty minutes, Vakarian. I’m going to go say goodbye to my crew.” She looked up at John, pulled him in for a hug. “Be safe out there. We’ll meet you for the summit.”

“You, too,” he said. “Take care of Garrus and Cortez.”

She flicked a glance at Garrus, grinned at John. “Not a problem.” She waved to Vega and left the mess, snapping her helmet back on.

Garrus and Vega watched her go with appreciation.

“Sister,” John said, behind them. “Seriously, I _will_ shoot you both.”


	7. Departures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More explicit content in this part.

Kal’Reegar waited on the docks for their newest additions, watching as refugees shuffled by. It was strange to watch the rest of the universe go through what quarians went through their entire lives, he thought. They did not know how to live, without their worlds. After hundreds of years, Kal wasn’t sure the quarians had completely mastered it.

He sat out of the way, with a decent line of sight on the approach to his ship; easy to overlook a quarian on busy docks like this, which was what he was counting on. He wasn’t much for the easy way, so he saw Pella long before she was close enough to see him.

But she did spot him. She approached where he sat instead of the marine guarding the airlock. She was smart enough, he thought, to know he’d want to talk to her before letting her board.

“Kal’Reegar,” Pella said. 

He stood, because suspicion aside, he had been raised to be polite. He’d been raised to be smart, too. He studied the pilot, with her strange, unadorned suit.

“Ma’am,” he said. “Don’t mean any disrespect, but I’m not about to let you on my ship and around one of our admirals without knowing more about you.”

She was tall, for a woman. He was tall for a quarian and her faceplace was still on level with his, enough that they could see each other clearly. She folded her arms and shifted her weight back, considering him. Not a threat, but not threatened, either.

“And if I say no?” she asked.

“I’m afraid we’ll have an issue,” he said. “Don’t really want one, but I’m not jeopardizing my men.”

“Or your admiral,” she added.

“No, ma’am, nor Tali,” he agreed. 

Pella found she rather liked him. Tali had given her curious looks, as most quarians did when she declined to share more than her given name. But Kal’Reegar made no attempt to hide his issue with her, nor the reasons for his caution and she appreciated that.

“I am not an exile,” she said. “But I was not raised with the Fleet.”

“Figured as much on my own, ma’am,” he said, but otherwise did not move. 

“My mother had me in exile. I do not know her family name. She died when I was quite young.” Pella shifted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, watching him. “She was trying to reclaim a ship from the geth, but she contracted a bad infection. I was raised away from the Fleet and never made it back, to find my place with them. You may be assured I am no threat to your Tali or your men.”

Kal’Reegar listened, but still did not move, even after she finished. “Rather make up my own mind about that,” he said.

“The rest is not so important,” she said, testing. 

“All the same,” he said.

She cocked her head. Rarely was she pressed for more detail, but Kal made no threatening move, no indication that he was surprised, shocked, or bothered by anything she’d said. It would be interesting to see what did phase him, she thought. “I was raised by the true geth, who honored my mother’s dying request to save me.”

That succeeded in giving the marine pause, but not the admiral he so worried about. Tali’Zorah spoke from behind Pella.

“That does explain your family name,” Tali said. “The true geth?”

“Yes,” Pella said, turning slightly to address her. “The geth as most of the galaxy knows them are considered heretics by my people. They have been warped by the Reapers.” She paused, but neither of the other quarians seemed to disbelieve her, a rare occurrence. Lady Jane had been the first of any species to believe her about her past.

She continued: “The true geth have no real quarrel with their creators. They just want to live. My mother was exiled for trying to broker a peace, and I survived her death for the same reason. I did tell your commander it was not so important.”

Kal’Reegar shook his head slightly and looked at Tali. “True geth? This like that unit that used to follow Shepard?” 

“I think so,” Tali said. “But why would the geth want to raise a quarian child?”

“I believe I was somewhat of a social experiment,” Pella said. “A creator raised by the created. Nature versus nurture. I had an… interesting childhood.”

“You may be a great asset,” Tali said. “If we can convince the admirals to stand down, maybe we can arrange peace and bring the geth to help Shepard, as well.”

Kal nodded, his curiosity about Pella satisfied. She wasn’t a threat to Tali or his squad. The rest was just politics. “We should move, then. You and the asari are going to need to share quarters; we’re tight as it is.”

Pella nodded. “I will find my way, commander. Charr is bringing Aeian momentarily. Thank you.” She made her way to the airlock. 

“Same goes for me, I suppose?” Tali asked him. 

“No, ma’am, privileges of rank have some use,” Kal’Reegar looked down at her. “Managed to find you a bit of unused space. Isn’t fancy, but you’ll have some privacy.”

She tilted her head, too smart to accept that without question. “Who did I displace?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Kal looked away, across the docks. To his relief, he saw Charr heading for them, carrying Aeian. If he let her, Tali would question everything to death and back, then make him take his quarters back. Or worse, try to share them with him. He wasn’t sure he could do that and still be as polite as he was raised to be. 

“There’s the asari,” he said, cutting her off before she could question him more. “We’re ready to move when you are. Ma’am.”

“So many ma’ams in a row,” Tali observed to his back. “It’s like you are actually trying to avoid saying my name, Kal.”

“No, ma’am, that just doesn’t sound like something I would do,” he said. He cocked his head slightly in a way she was beginning to associate with his amusement. “Ma’am.”

She smacked him on the shoulder as she passed him to board.

***

Miranda was mad.

That was clearly the only explanation for why she would let two ex-operatives who had made their hatred so very clear come along on a mission like Horizon. Miranda had always known falling in love was a mistake, especially falling in love with a man like Shepard. He was too charming by half and never thought that people might not get along with each other simply because _he_ got along with everyone.

She pulled the zipper of her bag shut and shook her head at her own stupidity. She should have insisted on going alone. Or with Jacob, if she had to have back up. At least she could trust Jacob.   This had to be one of Shepard’s ‘team-building’ exercises.

She winced when she straightened. Chakwas had helped with the broken rib Lady Jane had given her, but the bruises would take time to fade. Unzipping her suit, she padded up the stairs of the captain’s cabin. She tapped on the cage on the shelf as she passed, a hello to The Illusive Hamster.

John’s sense of humor was nothing to be trifled with.

She had to stand on her toes to see the bruising in his mirror. It was fading, but still looked angry and bright against her skin. She looked up when the door to the cabin opened, listened to John throw something heavy across the room. She heard him unzip her bag, rezip it.

He was prowling like a caged varren when she stepped out of the bathroom, her suit still open to the waist. 

“They will come back,” she said, taking a guess as to the source of his irritation. He was never happy to say good-bye.

“You better,” he husked, trotting up the stairs to catch her around the hips, lift her in his arms, easily. He buried his face in her stomach, careful of her bruises, and exhaled against her navel. “You better come back, Miranda. I don’t have time to come track you down. There’s no time.”

She combed her fingers through his hair, shifted against him until he let her slide down his body. The slow contact left her breathless, when she finally felt her feet touch ground. “I’ll--” she started.

He cut her off with a kiss, mouth demanding. He was supposed to be leaving-- they both were. But he was Commander Shepard and too used to bending the galaxy to his will, too used to being bent to the galaxy’s will. The clocks stopped for him. 

He shoved his hands through her hair, tilting her head back so he could kiss her neck, bite and lick until she knew there would be a mark, visible even with the high necks of her suits. There was an edge of desperation to his mouth, tension thrumming through him that was not entirely sexual.

She ran her fingers down his arms and stepped back, leading him. Her ass hit his desk and he caught her by her hips, lifted her to set her on it. His mouth blazed a hot trail down her body, along the open neck of her suit.

She gasped when he caught her nipple with his teeth, arching into the bite. Her fingers fumbled, then caught on his fly, tangled with his belt. Belts, there were always so many belts between them, hip holsters and ammo packs. He had once laughingly challenged her to a race to remove them, in the lazy lull after the Collector base.

There was no contest, now. His dropped to the ground and he shoved hers out of the way, pushing her suit down, past her waist, until it bunched under her thighs, uncomfortable but otherwise forgotten.

He might have dragged it out, teased her past her limits, but her hands were swift, catching his cock in hand. She stroked him, smile curving her lips when his head lifted, eyes hazy. She was one of the rare things that could turn him from his path. She rippled her fingers, making him pant against her neck, his grip hard on the edge of the desk. Metal creaked, strained under his enhanced strength, and caused her to laugh. He grinned at her mirth, bit her bottom lip in warning, and pulled her flush to him.

Her legs were pinned by her suit, her side was still bright purple, and they both needed to be halfway across the galaxy within the hour. There was no time for long, sweet goodbyes, but she had never had much of a sweet tooth. It was no gentle joining, fast and driven by the knowledge that this would have to be enough. He pulled her off the desk, deeper onto him, bracing her against the wall. 

Her head fell back-- his voice in her ear, whispering nonsense sentimentality, words of love and need. It sent heat straight down her spine. She bit his shoulder to keep from screaming when her orgasm hit, heard his words stutter and fail when his did. 

“Come back to me,” he said, voice raw in her ear, his grip on the wall the only thing keeping them upright. “I mean it, Miranda. I need you with me.”

She closed her eyes against the rushing in her ears. “Shepard, I can’t promise anything.”

“I don’t care,” he said, jerking his head back, pressing his forehead against hers, forcing her to look at him. His mouth was soft, but his eyes were hard. “Just come back.”

It was too much, but it so often was, with him.

She nodded. “Fine, you win.”

His smile was worth it. “I always do,” he said, pressing a lighter kiss to her lips.  

“I hope you’re right,” she said.

***

Jane was waiting with Randall and Inali when Miranda stepped out onto docking bay D24. Randall’s eyes were on her, but the pair stayed back when Lady Jane crossed to Miranda. John’s influence over his crew seemed to be a hereditary trait.

They stared at each other in silence. Miranda was shocked by how hard it was not to drop her gaze; the same unrelenting force of will that made her love John was evident in Jane’s eyes. It was not often she felt so insecure under a woman’s scrutiny. 

“Take care of my crew,” Jane said, finally. She offered her hand and, though wary and surprised by the gesture, Miranda took it.

Jane turned her back and went back to her crew. She slugged Randall on the shoulder and kissed Inali’s cheek before boarding her ship. Miranda watched her go and only after she was out of sight did Miranda place the familiar tone in Jane’s voice.

She sounded exactly like John did when he was giving someone a mission to see if he could trust them. Miranda had seen it countless times-- he would go on some suicide run and pick the two newest recruits to go with him, because apparently, Shepards believed in learning to fly by flinging themselves off cliffs. 

***

“This is a beautiful ship,” Cortez said, settling into the pilot’s chair of the _Nedas._ Jane had already decided she loved him, so this was just icing on his cake.

“She could be all yours,” Jane said, leaning against the high back of the pilot’s chair. She folded her arms and propped her chin on them. “Really, Cortez, run away with me. John’s not that good looking.”

“Your ship is mostly manned by women,” Cortez pointed out, running the _Nedas_ through diagnostics. “Not that Randall isn’t quite the charmer.”

“He has his moments,” Jane said. “I could give you the galaxy. Show you the world.”

“I’ve seen the world, ma’am. It’s mostly on fire right now.” Cortez brought the main engines online. The ship shuttered to life around them.

“Yeah,” she said, noticing the shadow that crept over his face. She patted his shoulder. “Let’s go fix that.”

She straightened to see Garrus standing in the doorway of the airlock, looking around. “A Firefly frigate with stealth capabilities?” he asked.

“Hybrid Firefly-Talyn,” she said. “I took her from Cerberus a few years ago. They took her from the quarians. She has more surprises than tap dancing on a minefield. Cortez, you’ve got our heading?”

“Aye, captain,” he said.

“Then let’s go find ourselves an army.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Part One. Thanks for the kind words!


	8. Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No idea what happened to the first scene of this chapter, but it's there now.

“I was fourteen. He was a big guy, kinda meaty, you know?” Jane said, shaking out her hand and rippling her fingers back into a fist. It had been too long-- she forgot the most basic rule about fighting turians: they were harder than human fists. She smiled at the memory, tracking Garrus as he circled. “It just kinda happened. I still think about him, sometimes.”

“It must be a human thing,” Garrus said, sidestepping her grab. She didn’t have his reach, but she was faster, dancing in and out. He found her at his back more often than not, between one breath and the next. He turned slowly as she circled him. “I don’t remember my first at all.”

“Might be a girl thing,” Jane mused, tilting her head in thought. She glanced away from him, gave him an obvious opening. “Every girl remembers her first. Of course, that might just be lovers, not headshots.”

That made him laugh, which was probably a mistake. In a flash, she was in close, catching him under his cowl and arm for a hip-throw. She didn’t put him down gently, but he wasn’t about to go easily. She yelped when he reversed her throw; he caught her shoulder as he went down, planted a taloned foot in her stomach, and sent her flying across the mats.

It was a good thing her cargo hold was as large as it was, because otherwise Jane would have gone through the hull. She tucked and rolled into the landing, came up on her feet with her back to the wall. He was just climbing to his own and having second thoughts about the move. He would have used it in the field, but...

“Ah, I’m sorry--” he started.

“Don’t be. Teach me that,” she said, eyes bright with interest. “I’ve never had a throw reversed that neatly before. Turian military?”

Garrus shifted his weight back and crossed his arms. Her smile was infectious and he echoed it, cocking his head back. “C-Sec, actually.”

“Not a chance,” she said, without hesitation. “I’ve tangled with C-Sec before. They don’t have those moves. A dirty trick like that? You learned that on Omega,” she countered. 

His mandibles shifted in surprise, flicked out, then caught tight. “You’re well informed. I didn’t know that my, ah... exploits had gotten out.”

“They haven’t,” she said, bowing to him to end the match. She tilted him an impish grin, a very human show of teeth. “But I am very good at my job.”

“Pirate?” he said. “You’re counting that as a profession?”

“Do you count vigilante?”

“You know a lot about me,” he said. “...Should I be worried about that?”

“I mostly know what Kasumi told me,” she said, snagging a towel and wrapping it around her neck. She tossed him his own and laughed at his blank look. “You never thought it was weird that a thief infamous for stealing from Cerberus agreed to work for them?” 

“When you put it like that, I should have, doesn’t it?” he asked, following her to the lift. “Huh. I never thought about it.”

“No one did. That was the point,” she said. “John’s not the only one with a protective streak. It took me half a year to make those connections, set the pieces in place. Kasumi’s excellent at hiding her motivations.” She rubbed the back of her head, smiled up at him. “Apparently.”

He looked down and tilted his chin slightly in amusement at her, the pleased, comfortable way she wore her ship and her life like an old coat. She didn’t know fear or regret, not intimately. Her life was her own creation. The things he admired about John were becoming dangerously attractive in Jane. 

She reached up and traced her fingertips lightly over his scarred mandible. His surprise must have shown, because she pulled her hand back to show him the fine hair that had clung there. “Sorry,” she said as the elevator stopped. “Humans shed.”

“Ah, no problem,” he said, watching her walk out of the lift. He was positive her hips didn’t usually sway like that, with a faint hitch to her gait. It made him think of her hips moving like that while he-- 

He watched until the doors shut and the elevator began to move again. It opened again at the cockpit.

 Cortez glanced at him when the doors opened, taking in the faintly stunned look. He grinned. “Jane?” he asked.

“Ahh,” Garrus said, trying to figure out the question so he could give an appropriate answer.

Cortez laughed. “Oh, Shepard is going to kill you.”

 Garrus cleared his throat, hit the button for the crew quarters, and ignored Cortez’s laughter as the doors slid shut. 

***

It had been a long time since Tali lived on a quarian ship.

She had forgotten how crowded a ship could get. The Normandy was larger than most ships, even with military design and a crew rarely at even half capacity. She had enjoyed the company of the Normandy’s crew, but it had not been the same. Shepard had a habit of coming to talk at all hours and any habit of his tended to be contagious. They had all lived on the same cycle, with little regard to personal and private space. It had been nothing for Garrus to wander in to discuss the last mission, Legion to waylay her with a question, or even Miranda to come and talk about...

Well, mostly Miranda had wanted to talk about John, but she had tried to sell it as inquiring after crew morale. 

Kal had taken with them the smallest of the five squads, but this was still fifteen grown quarian males, plus Kal, Tali, Pella and Aeian, who had woken, been introduced to the crew, and disappeared back into her and Pella’s tiny quarters. Tali was not entirely sure what to make of the asari. 

She knew Kal had given up the Captain’s quarters for her. If his steadfast refusal to discuss the matter hadn’t been enough of a clue, the rocket launcher certainly was. She’d only found it when one of her seal clamps rolled under the bed. She pulled the massive gun from under the cot and laughed, remembering how she’d teased him about it on Haestrom. It had turned out to be a very practical birthday gift from his mother, after all.

She checked to make sure it was unloaded and the safety was on, then slung it over her shoulder and went in search of the commander. A few of the men greeted her as she passed, but did not otherwise remark upon her wandering the ship with a weapon of considerable destruction strapped to her back.

She found Kal in what passed for the mess. It was a crowded room, lined with lockers, and a small galley kitchen along one wall. Along the far side were cots for the squad. She paused at the shadow of the doorway, hearing his laughter.

“The _bosh’tet_ wouldn’t go down,” Kal was saying, laughter still warming his voice. “Full clip’a high velocity, incendiary slugs in his chest, no cover anywhere to be found, and it just looks at me like I’m a damn coward for wanting some.” 

“You kill it?” one of the men asked. Zen’Vorik, she thought, though she had a harder time placing his voice.

“Damn right. It got me back, though,” Kal said. “Grabbed me around the waist and picked me up like a _babosh’ka._ Got burned straight through my suit with my own damn bullets. Managed to get an arm free, though, put the final round in through its eye.”

She heard a soft thump and peeked around the corner. Kal had his back to her, sitting at one of the tables. Two of the men were with him, lounging across the way. As she watched, Kal shook his head and pushed the gun he’d been fiddling with across the table to one of the men.

“I was laid up for a month. When I got better, they slapped a few metals on me and sent me to Haestrom. Don’t really know what you did to this pistol, Zen, but it’s a damn mess. Should bring you up before the board for disrespecting a beautiful gun like this.” Kal stood up.

She hurriedly rushed back the way she came. She shouldn’t have been eavesdropping, but it had been hard to resist. Kal was always so polite, so--

“Tali?”

 So right behind her.

She turned, faked innocence, and decided putting him on the defensive was easier than explaining what she’d been doing. “Kal! I was just looking for you. You liar!” She marched up to him and poked him in the chest. “You said I didn’t displace you.”

Kal looked down at his chest, then up at the ceiling, rubbing the back of his neck. She watched him fiddle with that stray line at the back of his helmet. “No, ma’am, just told you it didn’t matter.”

“Kal--” she started, because it _did_ matter. Space of one’s own was a rare thing on a quarian vessel and he had given her his.

“Is that Vera?” he asked, interrupting her.

She narrowed her eyes. “You named your rocket launcher?” she asked, unslinging it.

“No, ma’am, my rocket launcher just happens to have a name,” he said, taking it from her. He turned it over once and held it by the strap with one hand. It was a beast of a gun, but he held it without any obvious effort. “Much obliged.”

“You could have just told me they were your quarters, Kal,” she said. “I wouldn’t have minded sharing.”

He made a soft sound she couldn’t interpret and shook his head. She noticed he’d drawn himself up, standing now almost at attention. He had done that before, a few times. When she tried to thank him for speaking up at her trial. When he’d escorted her to her new quarters on the ship.

“That wasn’t an option,” he said, finally.

“Oh.” She tilted her head, surprisingly stung by that. She _liked_ Kal, enough that she’d spent some time thinking about him, even on Shepard’s suicide mission. She looked away, touching her helmet in a reflexive gesture that was as stupid as it was fruitless. She couldn’t push her hair down to hide in it, not with her helmet on. 

“Tali,” he said, and the tone was enough to lift her gaze. 

He stepped in to her, too close to be a mistake, close enough that her filter canister knocked with his. His visor tapped against hers as he bent his head, his features coming into hazy clarity, so close. She felt his hand on her hip, holding her in place with light pressure when she would have stepped back, and her suit’s autonomous systems began to react to the changes in her breathing, heart rate, and the heat that pooled between her legs.

“Wasn’t an option to share quarters with you,” he murmured. He had dark eyes, she realized, and the beautifully sculpted features of well made quarian man, all lash and edge. “It’s been enough of a distraction, trying to set the right example for my men and spending all my time thinking about what you look like under your suit.” 

Her breath stuttered out. His accent was stronger, slowing his words to a drawl. One fingertip traced a small circle high on her hip. The rocket launcher bumped their legs as he shifted his weight. She watched him look at her and wondered what he saw beyond the haze of her own visor.

He stepped back a second before she registered the sound of footsteps-- but he was already composed, looking past her to answer some question Zen had asked but she didn’t hear.

The _bosh’tet_ saluted her before he left.

***

“A Sunny!” Cortez said, studying the shuttle. Jane had picked it up from a scrap yard. It was her pet project, though the entire crew liked to beat on the small shuttle, affectionally referred to as--

“The Damn Heavy Piece of Shit?” Garrus read from the side.

“Normandy was already registered,” Jane deadpanned.

“I haven’t seen a Sun Bear since basic,” Cortez said, ignoring them to open the shuttle doors. Jane followed him in, Garrus after her. It barely held all three of them in the cargo area. Cortez slid into the single pilot’s chair and began tapping keys, bringing her systems on line. He laughed to himself when the shuttle pinged and whined.

“Can you fly it?” she asked, watching over his shoulder. 

“Please,” he said. “ _You_ could fly it. It’s barely half a ton bigger than a car. The real question is if we should just leave the _Nedas_ on autopilot while we’re on Menae.”

Jane shrugged. “Probably not, but her stealth drive should protect her from detection and the VI can handle most of the rest. Unless a ship runs into her, she’ll be fine.”

“It’s your boat,” Cortez said. 

Jane shrugged. “She’s the fourth _Nedas_ I’ve had in the last ten years.” She grinned at him in the overhead mirror, meant to let him see the cramped cargo area. “Shopping for ships is the best part of my line of work.”

“Aye, Pirate Queen Jane,” Cortez said. “We’ll drop in ten. Best grab your kit while I finish up here.”

Jane checked the VI and autopilot before grabbing her gear. Garrus stayed on the shuttle, debating with Cortez the relative merits of the Sun Bear compared to turian model drop ships. She thumped Cortez’s chair to signal she was ready and secured the door.

Menae bled, in the shadow of a burning Palaven. Garrus and Cortez fell into silence at the sight of the destruction, and Jane thought about growing up poor on Earth.

She shifted her weight, John’s armor rubbing uncomfortably against her chest. She tried to shift it to settle it more comfortably. It might have been easier without the half-ton of weapons.

“You might not want to do that in front of the Primarch,” Garrus said, thoughtfully. She turned her head to find him watching her.

 “Why does he need this many guns?” she groused, not ready to put on her helmet and hear John’s voice instead of her own. “What’s your assessment of the situation?”

“I think he just likes to be prepared,” Garrus said.

She turned to look at him, then shook her head with a laugh. “I meant about Palaven.”

“Oh,” he said, cocking his head slightly. Amusement, she thought. She had worked with a few turians in the past, enough to pick up the basics of their body language. He flashed her a turian grin, mandibles lose, plates on his brow shifting higher. Small signs that faded when he turned his attention to his homeworld, bright on the horizon, easily visible from the Sun Bear’s windshield.

“It looks bad,” he said. “That blaze of orange? That big one, there? That’s where I was born.”

She followed his gaze. Born on Earth, raised in the ghetto, she thought about how she’d feel to find it burning now. Thought about her youthful promise to come back and set the entire city on fire, herself.

“It looks bad,” she agreed. “You have family?”

“My dad. A sister. I haven’t heard from them.” He voice was even, businesslike. “I heard there were three million lost the first day, five, the second. The hierarchy is in chaos. It’s amazing we even know who the Primarch is.”

“What does that mean for the turians?” Cortez asked.

“A lot of our strength is in our structure, in clearly defined lines of protocol. We all know what to expect when the unexpected happens, so we can react faster than most species. But something like this...” Garrus shook his head, his armor knocking with hers as the Sun Bear hit a patch of hard air. “We’re not prepared for this type of chaos. Entire tiers of our social structure have been wiped out. I’m not even sure of my own standing, right now.”

“How do you find out?” Jane asked, curious. “Turian intranet? Is there a list?”

His look was startled, then, there, she saw amusement peek through the protective shell of cold professionalism. 

“More likely, I’ll see what happens when we get on world,” he said. “If they shoot at us, it’s probably a bad sign.”

“That’s usually how I know I’m doing something right,” she said, turning her attention back to the planet.

***

Randall woke from a dead sleep when Inali got up from the cot. Miranda had rented them a suite on a cruiser to Sanctuary, two small rooms connected by a tiny sitting room. Inali and Traynor had set them up with new IDs, EDI had made sure the cameras on board were malfunctioning. It was lavish, especially by the current standards of travel, but John had waved it off as an Alliance expense. Cheaper than buying a new ship, he’d said.

Inali had been nervous about traveling with so many people, worried she might snap at any moment. But the trip was relatively short, only a standard day and a half, with Randall was armed to the teeth and glued to her side. Having a mission to focus on didn’t hurt, either.

He propped himself up on the bed and watched her dress, unable to fully open his eyes against fatigue. “Get back here,” he finally protested, exhaustion thick in his voice. 

She smiled slightly and leaned over to tap a finger against the biotic scarring on his forehead. “Go back to sleep, Rand. I’m just going to do some research in the common room.”

He grumbled and started to get up.

A hand on his chest prevented him from dragging himself up. “I mean it,” she said. “You need sleep. Don’t think I missed that you’ve been pulling double shifts for Jane. If we want a chance on Horizon, you need rest and I need to do research. I’ve set your omnitool to wake you if there are any significant changes in my vitals.”

He rumbled something that sounded like a curse and fell back to the bed. He was back asleep before she left the room.

Miranda was already in the sitting area, reading something on a datapad. She looked up when Inali stopped in the doorway, glanced past her at the closed door. “I didn’t think he let you out of his sight,” she commented, mildly.

Inali felt a flash of irritation, but brought her work with her and sat down across from Miranda. The entire room was barely big enough for the four of them. She wondered if Miranda and Jacob were sharing the other bunk. 

“For good reason,” Inali said as she sorted through her notes. “The last time he did, Cerberus upgraded my benefits to include non-routine procedures.”

“Cerberus has always included non-routine, non-consensual procedures as part of their benefits package,” Miranda said, her mouth softening slightly with amusement. “It’s amazing Randall doesn’t speak with the Illusive Man’s voice, considering all his implants.”

Inali relaxed back into the chair, shaking her head. “The brainwashing never did take, with him. His mind’s too dirty to clean, I suppose.” 

“So, you knew about the experiments on operatives?” Miranda asked, raising an eyebrow.

 “I knew some of it,” Inali agreed, sighing. “The purely psychological brainwashing is fairly textbook, and after my first dissection, it was relatively easy to piece together that they were attempting to merge control implants and biotic implants. No one at my pay grade ever really knew enough.” She shrugged. “Randall was the fifth agent assigned to me. The first four degraded much quicker. I took an interest, called in a few favors from the techs that decomissioned KIAs. All four had implant control chips.”

“Your fifth?” Miranda asked. “You worked for Cerberus that long?”

“Recruited out of high school on a full scholarship to the Harper Medical Research Center,” Inali said without pride. “But I did have a higher turnover than most handlers.”

“The Barn,” Miranda corrected. 

“Yes,” Inali said. “The Barn. Two agents degraded very quickly. They stroked out on missions.” 

Miranda glanced up from her datapad. “You said there were four others before Randall?”

“The other two were more conventionally killed in action,” Inali said. “By Commander Shepard and his team.”

“I won’t apologize for that,” Miranda said.

  

“I wasn’t asking you to,” Inali said, meeting her gaze. “They threw Randall at me after that. He went through twice as many handlers as I did agents, but he was still considered too valuable to terminate.”

“With his implants, I’d imagine.”

“No, he received most of those under my watch,” Inali said, flipping through files to cross-check a date. “He’s always been very good at his job, implants or no. Or he was, until...” She waved a hand to indicate herself. “Speaking of, I need you to tell me about your sister. I have some files on your father-- Randall grabbed everything he could before he left The Barn, so we have an interesting but noncomprehensive mix of intel. I don’t have any records of your having a sister.”

“Why?” Miranda asked. “It would be simpler for us to focus on our own goals.”

“No,” Inali said, distracted by a file on possible candidates for Stage Four Upgrades. Her name was on the list, followed by a few more she recognized. She deleted the ones she knew to be dead, cross referenced the others. “Our goals aren’t mutually exclusive, so we’re better off working as a team.” When she looked up, she read the doubt in Miranda’s neutral expression. 

“Your profile suggests that you’re excellent at infiltration,” Inali said, drawing up the files on her datapad and projecting them through her omnitool; she contrasted them with Randall’s data, highlighting the relevant data points. “But Randall has a better rate of recovery when it comes to blind drop retrievals. I would recommend sending you two in as clandestine agents and maintaining total blindness, while deploying Jacob as a double agent. The IDs Traynor made will get him in to the compound and he has a far superior rating with asset recruitment, suggesting his interpersonal skills are better than yours or Rand’s. With a dual objective infiltration divided between three operatives, there’s always an agent able for fluid support.”

Miranda set down her datapad and reconsidered Inali. “You’re quite good at your job. Why did they decide to relocate you?” The terminology tasted familiar and awful on her tongue. She hated to think like that any more; that torture was simply ‘relocating assets.’

But Inali laughed, a shockingly bitter sound from such a frail looking woman. “Oh, I forgot they called it that. Relocating. If I had to guess, they caught on that I was faking reports. I was trying to protect Randall from investigation.”

“Lying to the director of The Barn is a ballsy move,” Miranda said.

“One I ultimately paid for,” Inali agreed. “And you still haven’t told me anything about your sister. You’re right, I _am_ damn good at my job, and I can plan this op without your providing any relevant intel, but our chances of success will be significantly higher if you do.”

Miranda scratched her collarbone, but the decision had already been made. She outlined the situation with her sister. Inali only interrupted to ask for clarification or details, but otherwise listened silently and occasionally took notes on her datapad. When she finished, Inali asked about the original relocation. Jacob joined them midway through Miranda’s recounting.

“Dual-target recovery,” Inali said, when Miranda finally wound down. “Unless we want to eliminate the threat your father poses, something you should probably consider. His wealth and backing must be a valuable asset to Cerberus, and as long as he’s alive, he’ll chase you, Miranda. You’re right, you’re too valuable to let go, easily.” 

“We really going to turn this into a wet op?” Jacob asked.

“Might as well,” Miranda said. “I had the same thoughts, myself. You know he won’t let Ori go easily, Jacob, and I can’t protect her forever. Obviously.” 

“This isn’t your fault,” Jacob said. “You were fighting the Collectors.”

“No, I should have foreseen this,” she said, shaking her head. “I knew he was ruthless when it came to his legacy. Of course he was going to find her.”

“Humans are easy to find,” Inali said. “Species tend to self-segregate.”

“‘Cept the damn asari,” Randall said from the doorway to their room. He leaned against the frame, scratching his chest absently. “Who’re we hunting?”

“I said you needed sleep, buster,” Inali said, twisting to narrow her eyes at him.

“Yeah, yeah, you can be my mother later.” He looked pointedly at Miranda.

Miranda tilted her head slightly, leaning back in her chair. She was curious to see if he was as good as Inali claimed. “Human. Female. Upper socio-economic class.”

“Who’s she hiding from?” Randall asked, padding into the room to look over Inali’s shoulder at her datapad. He scowled at her glare, knowing he’d pay for not sleeping longer. She’d probably drug his tea again, damn busybody.

“Henry Lawson,” Miranda said. “It took him nearly a year to locate her. She had a private backer helping her relocate.”

“Lawson didn’t have me working for him,” Randall said. “You the backer?” he asked, glancing up at her.

“How does that figure into it?” Jacob asked, frowning.

“Motivation. You got a turian on the run from the law, he’s going to run to Omega, get as far from home as he can. If he’s on the run from society, he heads to a place without a lot of other turians. If he’s on the run from a gang, he goes to Palaven or one of the colonies, somewhere he feels protected. Changes if you got someone else footing the bill. Person pays, they usually think they get a say in what you do. Every species’ like that.” Randall shrugged, tapped on a name on Inali’s datapad. “Her, she’s the doctor that volus said I should find.”

“I’m the backer,” Miranda said. “You’re tracking my sister, Oriana.”

“Yeah, figured. Ilium, maybe. Humans like to be around asari and money.” Randall thought it over, then shook his head. “Been me, I’d have dragged up wherever you went when you flew the nest, follow that.”

“If you couldn’t?” Miranda asked.

Randall leaned against Inali’s chair, folding his arms. He shut his eyes for a minute, lips moving as he thought it over. “Colony?” he asked Inali.

She thought it over and made a sound of agreement. “Most likely,” she said. “Lawson has ties to most of the major population centers and Miranda would know that.”

Randall nodded, opened his eyes to look at the map Inali had pulled up. “Something small, out of sight, then,” he said, searching. “Find a place out of the way, but protected by the Alliance, Amaterasu or something.” 

He glanced up as Miranda made a soft, surprised sound. “Really? Amaterasu? That’s damn well nowhere. Not a bad plan.” 

“You made your point,” Miranda said. “We have a covert op to plan.”

***

The vid sparked and faded, leaving silence in its wake.

“No one else understood that, right?” Vega asked. 

Liara sighed and covered her eyes with a hand. “I will begin working on decoding this. Samara, will you inform Kasumi?”

“No need.” Kasumi’s voice came from Liara’s omnitool. “I think I’m making headway on this pod.”

“I said not to disturb it!” Liara said. 

“I know. You could have gift wrapped it and made it less interesting. I cracked three of the primary security cyphers. There’s four more layers plus a dual input lock.” Kasumi’s voice fell silent, then added: “this is almost a challenge! But more Cerberus troops just dropped.”

“On it!” Vega said, taking off toward the pod. 

***


	9. Preparations

Tali’Zorah returned home to find only slaughter.

She sat in the near-empty command room, so recently vacated by the other admirals, and stared at the holographic image of the geth dreadnaught. It had been Kal’s idea to host the admirals, suggesting that the neutrality of their ship might be an asset in the discourse. (Technically, it fell under Gerrel’s command if they considered Kal as captain, but the ship itself came from the patrol fleet plus Tali’Zorah’s own involvement superseded Kal’s command and Tali had listened to them debate the entire thing for nearly an hour, so she was ready to give it to the geth if they asked nicely and promised to shut the other admirals up.) 

And that had just been the beginning. Pella had requested that she be kept out of all the politics, something Tali herself wished she could ask. With Pella went Aeian, which was helpful, since Tali wasn’t sure she could adequately explain either of them. The four hours following the admirals’ arrival had been mostly bickering, politics, bullying, and a commitment to stubbornness that even the krogan could admire. Tali was not sure which cause the admirals were more committed to: not losing power to the other admirals or throwing their people at a foe they could not defeat.

She felt fingers smoothing the dupatta that covered her helmet, a bare brush of a touch. When she lifted her head, she found Kal standing over her.

“How did it get so bad?” she asked him. “Before I left, none of them would have thought to do this.”

Kal looked at the map and drew himself up, clasped his hands behind his back. The military called the position ‘at ease,’ but it never really looked relaxed. Kal seemed to do it out of habit, she thought, watching him. She was sorry for the loss of his touch and wondered how to show him that before turning her attention back to more pressing matters.

“Always been this way, ma’am,” he said, after a while. 

“What do you think of it? Do we have a chance?” Hope fluttered, then fell when he shook his head.

“Ain’t my place,” he said. “Gerrel’s in charge of the Heavy Fleet; I’m just a commander.”

She frowned and stood, stepping between him and the holographic interface. He stared over her shoulder until she jabbed him in the chest with a finger. “Don’t give me that simple soldier act, Kal. You are good at this, at looking at battles and seeing the right path to take. You said it wasn’t a soldier’s place to say unless you are asked. I am asking.”

“We don’t got a hanar’s chance in a Palaven summer,” he said, looking down at her hand. “Best the marines are doing is buying time so Gerrel can try’n find more soldiers to throw at them. My squad wasn’t the first lost and it won’t be the last, that’s for damn sure. We keep this up much longer, it won’t matter if we _do_ reclaim the homeworld, because there won’t be enough of us left to live on it.”

She stared up at him. “It’s that bad?”

“Yes, Tali,” he said, softly. “I don’t back down from a fight, but there are a lot of good men dying for no good reason.”

She flattened her hand against his chest. She could feel the faint vibration of his suit and the rhythm of his breathing, but not the beat of his heart. Her gloves were pale against the blood red of his suit. When she looked up, she found him watching her again, felt a shiver of awareness slide down her spine. She stood on her toes to lift her head, put her visor flush against his. 

“I am sorry you lost your squad, Kal,” she said. 

“They were good men,” he said, and so close, she could see sorrow pass over his features.

His hand slipped around her waist, found comfortable home at the small of her back. She felt steadier for the pressure. “Gonna need to do something about this soon,” he murmured, drawing her closer. “Can’t fight the geth with a fever.” 

“Do you mean we need to end this war,” she asked in a rush, “or link our suits?”

She watched his lips curl into a smile, a slow, masculine thing that seemed so pleased. She wondered what his smile would feel like against her own lips and almost forgot about the war altogether, about the Reapers and the geth and standing in the middle of a hobbled together war room in a ship that belonged to no fleet.

“Would be happy enough with both,” he said. “But if I gotta pick one, ought to be the war.”

“Oh,” she said. 

“Ought to be, ma’am,” he said and grinned when she lifted her gaze again. Amusement danced in his eyes. “But I could find a good death fighting the geth for you, even with a fever.”

She shook her head and stepped back, feeling his hand drag over the curve of her hip. “You are not going to die any type of death, Kal’Reegar,” she said, turning to the door. She felt his gaze on her, through her suit. “So we should get to it, if we are going to accomplish both.”

***

Menae reminded Garrus a lot of Omega: worth saving, but it was going to put up a fight. Cortez took them in low, skimming the landscape, trying to find a good place to touch down. There were no good places left, as far as he could see.

Beside him, Jane leaned out of the open cargo door, her body arched. She was anchored only by her grip on a handrail above, that Black Widow held loose in her other hand. With her helmet on, in John’s modified armor, there were no outright clues to her gender. She was betrayed only to practiced eyes.

Her legs were long, body loose with the lethal, languid grace of a woman accustomed to using herself as a weapon. The arch of her back was too fine a curve to be found on a human male, swaying and shifting with every crest or bump of the Sunny. 

She raised her gun to her shoulder, set her eyepiece to the scope. He counted with her, _three two one exhale_ and the shot was as easy as he’d ever seen, as beautiful as the woman herself. The recoil rocked her back, but she moved with the motion and her laughter, even through the modulator, held a distinctly feminine cadence. 

There was no way they were going to pass her off as her brother.

He walked to her side and braced himself on the overhead handle, leaning close to follow her rapidly shifting line of sight. A maurader corpse lay in the dust, the back of its head missing.

“Scoped and dropped,” she said with John’s voice. “Count one for me, Vakarian.” She cocked her head back, a turian way of showing her amusement.

“Anyone could have made that shot with a gun like that,” he said.

“Feel free to show me how its-- Cortez! Put her down!” She thumped on the outside of the shuttle, pounding until Cortez put them into an almost suicidal dive, setting the Sunny down not ten yards away.

She hopped out and raced back the way they came. He followed after, more slowly, picking off the curious husks that followed.

He found her crouched over the corpse of a marauder, omnitool glowing. She looked up at him when he stopped over her. “Some of them have tech implants and communication devices. Pella’s been working on hacking them.”

He didn’t even know where to start. 

She grabbed her Widow and stood, looked around. “Camp’s that way, right?” she asked, but didn’t wait for his answer, simply heading off in the direction, heedless of the rough terrain and enemy forces in her way.

“She jumped out of a moving shuttle because...?” Cortez asked, breathless from chasing after them.

Garrus looked back at the shuttle, traded his rifles, and started after her. “She saw something she wanted, I think.”

“Damn, remind me not to catch her eye,” Cortez said, taking up the rear.  
   
***

Pella shut her eyes, listening to Aeian prowl their room. It was small-- ten steps wide, in fact, and five long, barely big enough for double-bunks and the two of them. Aeian took three steps one way, turned, and took three back, over and over, caught in the act.

“Aeian,” she said, finally.

The asari stopped in her tracks. She nodded and wrung her hands a few times before settling on the floor to clean the gun Jane had given her. “I thought we were going to see the geth. I like the geth more than I like quarians. They don’t look like humans at all. I like them.” 

“Do you want to tell me why you were so upset by Commander Shepard’s pilot?” Pella asked.

“No,” Aeian said. “I do not want to tell you why I was so upset by Commander Shepard’s pilot. No.”

“He is a good pilot, I hear,” Pella said.

Aeian stood up in a rush, clicking the parts of the pistol together, hands a blur. She lifted the gun, then lowered it, then lifted it again. Finally, she holstered it. “We should go see the geth. You want to, right?”

“I do. But this is a complicated situation. I picked up Reaper code in the message they sent. They will allow me to join them, but there is something wrong.” Pella sat up, opened her eyes. She looked at Aeian, then sighed. “I suppose I shall go speak with Admiral Tali.” 

***

Corinthus saluted him.

That wasn’t a good sign for Garrus’ social standing. He had a rough idea of how many people had to die before he rose that high. It was not a cheerful thought. Palaven was in worse shape than he’d thought if the chain of command had snapped in so many places they didn’t know where it anchored, anymore. 

“Mark one,” Jane’s voice came over his earpiece, her voice echoed by the modulator. It drew him back to the task at hand. They had to fix a com tower, something Jane had volunteered for without anyone actually asking for a volunteer. Corinthus had said they needed the tower up to find out who the Primarch was and she’d been gone almost before he finished speaking.

“Almost got it!” Cortez shouted down to them.

 Garrus focused on the task at hand, lining up a shot. He waited a beat until the targets aligned, then took down a pair of husks. “Two-fer,” he said, feeling Jane bump his shoulder with her own. She was lying prone beside him at the base of the tower, rifle nestled comfortably against her shoulder.

“That was all gun,” she said. “They were lined up.”

He used the opportunity to take out three more, though the ricochet that took out the last one was more luck than skill, if he were being honest. “You were saying?” He cocked his head at her.

She shifted up suddenly and set her rifle in the curve of his back, bracing herself against his side. She fired off a pair of shots and he turned his head to see the husks fall.

“That ricochet was lucky,” she said, changing her position so she lay with him again. 

“Did you just use me as a prop?” he asked.

She paused, then lifted her head. The full helmet completely concealed her expression. “Yes,” she said. “Is that a problem?”

“Only if you miss,” he said.

Cortez cleared his throat. “I’m done, here. Maybe one of us should go tell the General?”

“Uh-huh,” Jane said, lowering her head back to her scope. “Hold tight, I need four kills to win.”

***

“I don’t like this,” Randall growled.

“What, leaving me alone or working with Miranda?” Inali’s voice was familiar through the static, though she now had a distinct rasp from Cerberus’ alterations. 

Crouched a few hundred yards from Sanctuary’s main compound, checking his weapons while Inali ran her final diagnostics, it was almost like old times, waiting to drop for a retrieval. They’d hidden Inali best they could, in the slope of a runoff embankment. The shrubbery would keep her and their equipment out of sight, but the proximity would allow her the com access necessary to run the op. 

He tapped his earpiece and signaled for her to make the check again. Static at close range meant she’d be unintelligible at long range.

She ducked her head to make adjustments on her omnitool, then lifted it to watch him. “One-two, one-two, look at you.” Her voice was steadier, the signal cleared.

He smiled, the routine almost enough to ease the worry of her being so close to a Cerberus base. Alone. “Got you,” he said, holstering his assault rifle and checking the suppressor on his pistol. “You read me?” 

“Like a book, babe,” she said, watching as he crossed to her. “Miranda, check? Is Commander Shepard as big and hard as his reputation?”

Miranda’s head snapped around. “What?”

Randall laughed at her surprise, testing the makeshift shelter they’d rigged for Inali. He’d forgotten how much fun Inali had with new ops on her team. Good to see that hadn’t changed. “She’s a talker,” he told Miranda over their coms. “Hope you’re better than that on the field.”

“I simply like to be sure my agents can maintain their cover under all circumstances,” Inali said, pointing to a datachip out of her reach. Randall handed it over and checked the Raptor he was leaving with her. 

 “Use this,” he told her, eyes narrow. He’d spent plenty of time ensuring she could shoot, before everything went down. Training was no good without field experience, but it would give him time to get back to her. She rolled her eyes at him.

Randall went to join Miranda, checking her gear over with a practiced eye. He was surprised how easily she fell into Cerberus routine, turning before he could ask, shifting her weight in anticipation when he thumped his palm against her armor and pulled a strap secure. “She told me dirty jokes during a blind drop, once. Spent the entire damn thing trying not to laugh and get myself killed.”

Miranda smiled slightly, turning to check over Randall’s gear. Double-check done, she nodded. “I read you, Inali. And Shepard is larger than life,” she added. “Very thorough in everything he does.”

“I bet. Lucky girl,” Inali said, grinning when Randall scowled at her. “You’ve got a ten minute window to get in there. Check ins are every ten, verbal or a double-tap on your ear piece. Two missed check-ins and I call in the cavalry. If you need a hard extraction, screams of pain or the code word ‘Window’ will both work. I briefed Jacob before he left-- he’ll only come if I have to pull a hard extraction on one of you, so let’s try not to get into too much trouble.”

“Aye,” Miranda said.

Randall crossed back to Inali and crouched in front of her, searching her face. She smiled tiredly at him. “Base is the other way, Rand,” she said.

“Yeah,” he acknowledged. “If you need me--”

“You’ll be busy doing what you do best,” she said, eyes hard. “Don’t go soft on me now, Ezno.”

“Yes’m,” he said, straightening. He kissed the top of her head, fuzz tickling his chin, and loped off to join Miranda.


	10. Battles

Jane crested the hill to find chaos, death, and a seething mass of Reaper ground troops where the Primarch’s camp had been. 

She heard Garrus and Cortez stop behind her, the low thrum of Garrus murmuring something, but her mind was on the battle before her. A turian shrieked in pain, collapsing in a spray of blue blood. He clawed the ground until his hand found his gun and dragged several husks with him into death’s embrace.

She cocked her rifle, put it to her shoulder and tracked a ravager. The first shot was clean, bursting one of its sacks. It scuttled around and caught her up in its crosshairs. 

It didn’t see her smile, hidden by her helmet, and then it didn’t see her at all, hidden by her cloak. She side-stepped out of its sights, adjusted her aim, and popped three rounds in quick succession, fire, eject, reload fire eject-reload-cloak-fireejectreload-- dropped.

Her laughter drifted in her wake as she dove into the battle, as gleeful as a child at the pool. Overwhelming force pushed down upon the base, threatening to flood it, drown them all; but she felt only familiar fire, so often banked, as it blazed to life inside her. 

Everywhere she looked, targets lined up, pointed her to her nest. Her eyes fell upon the perch across the camp, a quick shelter with a flat roof and only one access point. “Advancing,” she murmured into her coms. “Nest, ten o’clock. Cover me?”

“ _Now_ you ask?” Garrus grumbled. “Hold.” Two shots, two more down. “Go.”

She raced through the center of the camp, dancing between demonic beasts. She pulled her SMG with her off hand, picked off easy targets as she ran, drawing attention and deflecting it again. The shots seemingly appeared from nowhere, causing confusion among the Reaper’s ranks. She listened to their chitter, used it to compensate for her helmet’s limitations.

She holstered rifle and handgun to scramble up the crates stacked agains the shelter. Her cloak winked out as she stretched up to catch the gutter, pull herself onto its roof. Three rounds, close-- the sound of meat hitting dirt and the hum of Garrus’s pleasure in her ear. She pulled herself up, planted a boot on a husk’s foot, not questioning how it had ended up on the roof, brought her pistol up with her free hand. She decorated her nest with its brains.

The smell drifted over her as she reactivated her cloak and stretched out, adjusting her sights. The battlefield came clear through her scope, sharp edged. “Flush them out,” she murmured, watching Garrus slam a Maurader onto the ground and crush his boot through its skull.

“Aye, ma’am!” Cortez said. “Bringing them your way!”

He darted by, dancing backward as he peppered a brute. He ducked out of the way of its swing as Garrus’s first shot caught the beast in the back of the neck. It roared in pain and fury.

She felt her heart go slow and steady, breath easy. This was what she did-- this was where she lived, between two and half and three pounds pull on her trigger. She put the first round through its eye, the second through the back of its throat when it opened massive jaws to scream in pain.

“Impressive,” Garrus said in her earpiece, undervoice humming with appreciation.

“Think you can convince the other one to say hello?” she asked.

“And let you have all the fun?” he asked.

“I’ve got your cute butt in my scope, turian. Move it or lose it.”

***

Thane Krios had been many things in his life, but nursemaid had not been one of them. He stood silent vigil now, because Shepard had asked him to remain and guard his crew member. Thane was not a fool, he knew Shepard’s sharp eyes caught the small symptoms of failing health, and this assigned vigil was also an excuse to keep Thane near quality health care. But the honor in the task remained-- Thane was entrusted with Ashley’s care and he took his job seriously.

The doctors were happy for the help, for the most part. He could do the small tasks the overworked nurses lacked the time to do; killing people and keeping them alive required surprisingly similar skill sets. He was accomplished at waiting in one place, watching a single target. Monitoring the machines took only a bit of study. For the most part, he read and meditated, prayed and watched the woman sleep.

Coma, the doctor had told him. They didn’t know when or if she would come out of it, but Thane felt she would. Some creatures possessed a will of life that was singularly strong, a vicious enemy to death and rest. Ashley struck him as one such creature, so Thane found himself waiting for her to awaken, despite the doctors’ doubts.

Occasionally, he read to her from the book Shepard had left, poems from an ancient human poet. The words were sweet and strong to the taste, but he found himself reading one again and again, circling back to it. The poem suited the world, though the poet was long dead and could not have known what they now fought.

It was during one such reading that the woman clawed her way back to consciousness.

She immediately stretched her hands across the bed, searching for her weapon. Beautiful warrior, he thought, fierce female. She could not stand but still she reached for a means to defend herself.

“Who?” she husked at him, turning her head.

“I am Thane Krios,” he said. “Do you remember me?”

“Shepard’s Drell assassin,” she said. She turned her head and shut her eyes. “Are you--”

“I am here as your protector,” he said, quickly, rising. “I will summon the doctors.”

She opened her eyes. “Wait. The last line. Finish the poem.”

He stilled, stuck by the odd request. The poem felt incomplete, half-spoken, but her own health should have been a more pressing concern. He had no need of the book, able to recall the words.

_“When can their glory fade?_  
O the wild charge they made!    
All the world wonder'd.  
 Honour the charge they made!    
Honour the Light Brigade,  
 Noble six hundred!” 

She smiled and shut her eyes. “I always loved that one.”

Beautiful warrior, he thought.

***

Victus watched the man approach, flanked by a turian and another human. He could place the Vakarian male, Garrus, but the humans were both unfamiliar. Unfamiliar, but allies, it appeared, if the battle he had just witnessed was any indication. If the rumors he’d heard about Garrus were true, he could probably guess who one of the humans was.

“General Victus?” the man in the lead asked.

He inclined his head. “Yes?”

“Commander Shepard, of the Normandy,” the man said, confirming Victus’ suspicions. 

 “Ah, Commander. I know who you are,” Victus said. “I can’t wait to find out what brings you out here.” He saw Garrus shift his weight, flare his mandibles. Dread flared in Victus’ stomach. Had the hierarchy fallen so far? This couldn’t be about--

“Fidorian was killed. You’re the new primarch,” Garrus said. 

“You’re needed immediately off world,” Shepard said, “to represent your people in a summit about the fight against the Reapers.”

Victus stared at the trio, then turned away, looked at his burning homeworld. He knew the exact number who had to die, for him to be the primarch. There were few turians left who didn’t, if he had to guess. He could feel every death now, as if every death had been kin. Palaven writhed and burned before him, her spirits unbroken but battered by their foe. And now he was her voice, he was supposed to lead his people, when all he had known--

“I’ve been military all my life,” he said, without looking away. “I’m no diplomat. I hate diplomats.”

“You sound perfect,” Shepard said, surprising him enough that he turned. “War is your resume,” Shepard continued, stepping forward. There was something in the human’s voice, some low thrum that Victus couldn’t place. This was a force of nature before him. This was no simple human with a message, but something much larger, much more complex. “This is the war to end all wars. We don’t need diplomats, we need soldiers, we need a united force. We need the turians.”

Victus looked over the twisted landscape before him, beyond the human. “Menae will fall without me,” he said. “You’re asking me to leave my people when they need me most.”

“Menae _has_ fallen,” Shepard said. “Look around. You have lost. We face a merciless, overwhelming enemy and we will lose unless we are willing to pay the price to win. You’ve lost millions here; I’m asking you to sacrifice them to save billions.” Fire snapped in the man’s voice, burned through the comforting lies all generals told themselves in the face of defeat. “If you want to stay, fine, tell me now so I can go find out who the next primarch will be, because you _will_ die here if you stay now. You will fall like Palaven, like Menae, like all of us. We are all doomed, unless we stand united.”

Shepard looked up at Palaven, rolled his shoulder as if it were stiff. “I don’t have time for you to make peace with this. We need to move and we need to move fast. This is what leading is, making the tough choices quickly. But if you think the choice includes saving Menae, you have no idea what we’re facing.”

Victus heard Palaven’s spirit in the undertone of the human’s voice. There would be no victory on Menae. He exhaled, nodded once. 

“Let me say goodbye to my men,” he said, heading for those few soldiers that had survived the onslaught. A thought struck him and he paused to turn back to the human. “Do you really think we can win this war?” he asked.

“If we’re smart, if we’re united, if we’re fast? Yes.” Shepard sat down on a crate, rifle cradled in his arms. “You can’t stand your ground in the face of a stronger force. You don’t fight force with force-- you fight it with intelligence. You find the higher ground, exploit your advantages. We’re playing the Reaper’s game and they’re better at it than we are, so we have to change the game. We have to outthink them, we have to outmaneuver them, we have to outrun them, and when we attack, we have to make every hit count. They are after nothing less than the complete eradication of sentient life and that gives us the advantage. They’re fighting for a cause, but _we’re_ fighting for survival.” 

Shepard lifted his head, holstered his rifle. “Yes, Primarch. I really think we can win this war.”

Victus studied the human. He could almost believe victory possible, listening to Shepard. There was something that made him believe this human could win this war, that this human knew how to turn a hopeless defeat into an unconditional victory. He understood why the Alliance had sent Commander Shepard. He nodded wordlessly and went to deal with his men.

Jane dropped her head to her hands and exhaled. “Do you think this will work?” she asked Garrus.

Garrus was silent for a long moment. She couldn’t see him staring at her, didn’t lift her head to look at what kept him quiet. 

“Yes,” he said, finally. “I think you’ll make it work.”

***

It was simple. Tali eventually convinced the other admirals into giving her twelve hours to infiltrate the geth dreadnought. Gerral begrudgingly promised to hold off his attack for exactly that amount of time, in light of the new information Pella provided.

Aeian had listened to all of it with half an ear, soothed by the thickly accented voices and Pella’s hand stroking small circles on her back. She wasn’t interested in the details of the mission-- she could fly them close enough to board, and Pella could get them inside, and Tali and she could try to reason with the geth. If that failed, Aeian would get them out and fly them back. Simple.

No, what held Aeian’s attention was the way one of the admirals was watching Pella. Aeian knew another predator when she saw one. Pella had eventually left with Tali to finalize details of their mission, but Aeian had stayed after, quiet and still in a corner of the command room. She watched the admirals argue a while longer, watched them part company, each going their own way. Kal’Reegar had remained and lifted his head when Aeian stalked Xen out, but he made no move to stop her.

Aeian let the admiral get as far as Pella’s quarters before she lost her patience with the hunt. She had never been particularly good at waiting or hiding, not really. Aeian laid her hand on the back of the quarian’s suit and tilted her head so her lips brushed the fabric of Xen’s helmet.

“I should be executed,” Aeian said. 

“Excuse me?” Xen said, trying to pull away. She froze at the familiar ozone scent of a biotic flare, the pricks of pain as her suit’s systems reacted to the singe. Aeians fingertips glowed in the dim hall, pressed firmly against the thin, vulnerable crease of Xen’s suit, under her enviro-lines and dupatta. 

“I know you’re interested in Pella. She’s connected to the geth and you’re a monster, one of the ones that likes to take apart living things to see if you can find out when they stop being alive. I knew people like you. But you should know something important.” Aeian ran her other hand up the quarian’s suit, pressed her palm against the other woman’s narrow waist. The back of her hand began to glow, but her palm stayed cool. “Pella’s off limits unless you want to die.”

“Is that supposed to be a threat, asari?” Xen asked. “I am an Admiral of the Migrant Fleet. This attempt will see you tried and executed.”

Aeian let her biotics flare, just enough for Xen to feel their burn and a prey’s fear, then withdrew totally, into the shadows of the ship. “I should be executed.”

***

_...Babe, I’m starting to think you don’t like me..._

_...You say the sweetest things. I sent you an update about Dr. Cole’s location. Your volus had good intel. Shame we haven’t tracked him down...._

_...Don’t get too excited, buster. We have to find her, first, and even then, we don’t know how much of this is reversible. Don’t growl at me. Acording to long range scans, you’ve got hostiles coming your way, might be a good time to go dark. Nine minutes thirty seconds to your next check in..._

_...I read you, Miranda. Nice and prompt, that’s a refreshing change. Is that you checking your hair in the southern quadrant of the high-security zone?..._

_...I’m sure. Access codes say there’re two VIPs in your area, but we don’t have confirmed ID. Uploading coordinates._

_...Understood. If you can, grab any intel on the projects you’re seeing-- modifying human colonists to create shock troops sounds familiar. If only I could remember where I’d heard about that happening..._

_...I’m a doll. Your next check is in ten..._

_...’Yes’m, all clear.’ You’re such a charmer, Jacob. Any word?..._

_...Dr. Cole? Dark hair, moderate height, late twenties, athletic build, civilian. Why?_

“I found her,” Jacob said. He kept his hands high, stepping forward only enough to let the doors slide shut behind him. Brynn gestured with the grenade launcher she had aimed at his chest. 

“Yes,” she said. “You found me. Now the question remains: what do you want with me?”

***

“Ma’am,” Kal said.

Tali had been running through a last minute check of her gear in the airlock, waiting on Aeian and Pella to finish their inspection of the fighter they were going to take to the dreadnought. Tali’d been trying to avoid him, if only because she suspected he’d try to stop her from going on the mission. She was the best choice for the job--

“Kal,” she said, taking a deep breath and turning to face him. “There isn’t time to discuss changing the mission. I am going.”

“Wasn’t going to stop you,” he said, surprising her. He set Vera down by her kit, without explanation. “Been keeping an eye on your activities while you were working with Shepard. Infiltrating a geth dreadnought ain’t the most dangerous thing you’ve done this week, much less this year. If you can come back from the Omega-4 relay, you’re plenty capable of getting back here safe.”

There was tension in his shoulders that betrayed the easy tone of his voice. Tali stepped close to stroke her hands over his suit, trying to feel it-- wondering at what the muscles of his arms felt like, what it would be like to actually soothe away some of the tightness with her touch. A few days had passed since their initial sync, but not enough time for it to be safe to quench her curiosity.

“Thank you, Kal,” she said. “That is very sweet of you to say.”

“Just stating the facts,” he said, covering her hands with his own. “Figure someone has to stay and make sure Gerral keeps his word.”

“We’re ready any time, Admiral Zorah,” Pella interrupted, sticking her head out. Tali stepped back out of habit and immediately cursed herself for it, silently. 

“Thank you, Pella,” she said.

“She’ll be right in,” Kal added. 

“Oh. Commander.” Pella inclined her head and ducked back inside.

“Do not get yourself exiled for me, Kal. He is your commanding officer,” Tali said, turning to gather her gear. She settled Vera on her shoulder, the weight warm and comforting. It would be a good gun to have, in case. 

“Didn’t say otherwise, ma’am.” 

“Kal, I told you, call me--” she started.

“Tali,” he interrupted, catching her hand to turn her back to him. She stumbled a step as he pulled her closer, brought his hand up to pull off his visor.

She should have protested, made him put it back on. It was dangerous to remove a visor, even in a clean environment. Even in an air lock designed for decontaminations, the risk was still there. But the sight of his face, unobscured for the first time since she’d met him, silenced her. Greedy, she soaked in the sight of him, trying to memorize every line and scar. Had he seen so much battle? Each scar was a suit breach; how had he survived at all? The strong set of his jaw, the glint of light off dark eyes; she immediately hated his visor for having to hide him from her. 

She didn’t protest when he reached up to remove her own visor. 

“ _Keelah,_ ” he said, barely a breath. “Knew you were beautiful.” 

She was unprepared for the scent of him, fresh air and gun oil, something else she had no words for, because it was entirely new. She lifted her head when he lowered his, the touch of his lips upon her own electric. 

It was light; a brief touch of lips, the too quick touch of tongues, barely a taste before he put her visor back in place, tapped the lock to ensure a firm seal. He made sure hers was secure before bothering with his own.

“Kal,” she said.

“You’ve got maybe twelve hours before an infection will set in,” he told her, voice professional again, cool. When she licked her lips, she tasted him there. “Be best to get back here before then. _Keelah se’lai._ ”

***

John wiped his arm across his forehead and leaned back against the crate near EDI, turning his head to look at her. The more he did, the easier it was for him to see her, instead of the Cerberus unit that’d beaten Ashley. She’d more than proven the benefits of the new platform, keeping pace in battle easily.

Only Wrex would demand he beat another Thresher Maw before agreeing to a diplomatic summit. Allers was waiting on clearance to run the story. She probably would already have it, except that Grunt had a big mouth and had to mention that this was the _second_ thresher maw John had taken down. 

They were all using the downtime while waiting for the Normandy’s shuttle to rest. He grinned, watching Grunt and Charr across the way. They were playing some sort of game of one-up. Grunt, never one to back down from a challenge, bellowed what he thought was poetry at the top of his lungs, trying to use volume to replace talent. The shaman and Wrex were judging.

“Shepard?” EDI asked.

“Yeah, EDI?” He recognized her ‘question’ tone. 

“I have received what I believe is bad news. Despite my calculating the odds as having a favorable outcome, I find myself still troubled by it,” she said. She was frowning slightly.

“You’re worried,” he clarified.

“I do not believe I have reason to be worried, Shepard,” she said.  
 He shrugged. “You don’t always need a reason, EDI. It comes with caring about things. What’s troubling you?”

“I believe part of my concern derives from having to share the news with you,” she said. 

He sat up straighter, turned his attention from the krogan to the AI. “What happened?”

“I lost contact with the _Nedas_ a few hours ago. A few minutes ago, I received reports that it had been destroyed in an attack by the Reapers. I have no further information regarding the status of its crew,” she said. “The odds are good that Jane had not yet completed the mission. It is unlikely she, Garrus, or the primarch were on board. However, it is very likely Cortez was on board at the time.”

Shepard shut his eyes, thoughts racing, following paths of action in his head. They all came to the same, obvious conclusions.

“Try to get ahold of the Menae outpost and request an update. Tell Joker to speed it up-- we’ll pick up the survivors ourselves,” he said. “If the _Nedas_ is gone and they are alive, they’ll need a ride.”

“Yes, Shepard,” EDI said. “Shepard?”

“Yes, EDI?” he said.

“Aren’t you worried?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “Jane’s a survivor and Garrus isn’t going to let a Reaper slow him down.”

“What about Cortez?”  
   
John stopped and looked at Tuchanka’s burning sun. “Right now, he’s part of Jane’s crew,” he said. His sister had lost her squad once, but only once.

***


	11. Poetry

Dr. Brynn Cole was not a woman easily impressed or startled. She held the grenade launcher with a steady hand and studied the man on the other side of it, one finger on the trigger. He was familiar, but she couldn’t place him. It didn’t matter. She couldn’t afford a distraction, not now. Too many lives depended on her. She needed to hack into the security feeds and find out why a high level operative was on Sanctuary in the next ten minutes, or the next sentry round would find her in a very suspicious location and their escape would have to be put off for another few days. She had an explanation ready for if she was found, but she didn’t expect anyone would buy it. Right now, this man was the only thing in her way. 

It was not a safe place for him to be.

“Ma’am, I’m going to need you to put down the gun,” the man said.

“Undoubtably, but that is not going to happen,” she said. “Who are you?”

He kept his hands up, eyes on her face. Smart of him, if he was a biotic. He’d be in for a surprise if he tried anything, though. “My name is Jacob Taylor. I’m here to offer you a way out.”

Her heart leapt with hope, but she squashed it down, calmed her racing thoughts. She wasn’t working on a tricky piece of tech, she reminded herself. She was planning to steal valuable assets from The Illusive Man, a man smarter than all of her scientists put together. This was no time for trust or hope, no matter how good looking the package it came in.

“A way out from what, Jacob Taylor? I’m quite capable of getting out of this room on my own,” she said. “More so than you, really.”

He seemed to be debating something with himself. Finally, he sighed. “I’m ex-Cerberus, working with the Alliance and Commander Shepard. We have intel to suggest you might like to join us.”

Of all the things he could have said, that was the only answer she hadn’t anticipated. “Do you have any proof of your identity?” she asked, not admitting to anything, but able to place him now. She’d seen his face on the news vids covering Commander Shepard’s trial.

“My tags.” He reached up, slowly-- again, smart man-- and pulled a chain off his neck. Two sets of dog tags hung from it. She kept the gun level, using her free hand to key her omnitool to read them.

His information popped up-- Cerberus and Alliance ident-codes. Jacob Taylor, in the flesh. If he were an impersonator, he was the best she’d ever seen. She didn’t entirely rule it out. She knew what Cerberus was truly capable of. 

“Will you lower the gun now?” he asked.

She ran through her options and slung the gun over her shoulder, nodding. “I accept,” she said. “But it isn’t just me. I have forty people I need evac for, including children. All civilians. We were planning on taking control of an incoming ship, but we just got word that a high level operative landed. I’m certain we’ve been found out.”

“Could be they’re here for us,” Jacob said. “I’m working with several other agents. Do you know where we can find the Director?” 

“Lawson?” she asked. “No, just that he’ll be in the main labs, in the east wing of the compound. He’s been locked up there, lately, with a woman.”

“That’s probably Oriana. You catch that, Inali?” he asked.

She cocked her head. “Inali?”

“Our handler,” he said. “She’s securing an exit for us, now. How long will it take you to get your group together and to these coordinates?” He held out his arm, displaying a map on his omnitool.

She looked it over, running estimates in her head. They were mostly ready to move anyway, but it would take time to get word to everyone about the change in plans... “Half an hour, minimum. An hour realistically. Why are you here?” she asked. She shook her head when he looked confused. “I mean, why did Commander Shepard send you _here_ , to rescue us? We’ve been very careful to hide our intentions.”

“That would be my fault,” a woman said, as Brynn’s omnitool flared to life. Brynn checked the ident-code of the transmission, but it was a nonsense stream of encrypted symbols. Just hacking in to her com frequency was a trick in itself, nevermind the level of encryption she was seeing. It very much echoed Cerberus’s work. Brynn narrowed her eyes at Jacob as the woman continued: “It’s a long story, Dr. Cole, but one of the agents working with Jacob is Randall Ezno. We worked out of the Barn, on the Chimera Project. When Randall quit, he took intel with him. Your name was on a reassignment list.” 

Brynn exhaled softly. She’d heard about Randall. Cerberus had tried to keep the incident at the Barn quiet, but scientists and soldiers could be worse gossips than fishwives. There were a lot of whispers about what had turned an agent like Ezno away from Cerberus, none of them pretty. It was one of the first times Brynn had questioned her own work, wondering what had driven a man to destroy an entire compound. But to have it confirmed that Cerberus wanted her dead...

“Okay,” she said, nodding. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Renata. I’ll rally my people.” 

***

“That’s all of it?” John asked, leaning back in his desk chair.

Jane looked up from cleaning her rifle and nodded. The helmet she had worn on Menae sat beside her on John’s bed. John had just finished watching the recording that had run the entire span of the mission. If they were going to pull off the scam on the Primarch, he would need to know every detail of what had happened as if he’d lived it himself. He’d been waiting in his quarters when the team docked and she had gone straight up, citing a need to check her messages and grab a shower. The Primarch had watched her go thoughtfully, but hadn’t commented. Garrus was settling him in while John and Jane went through their debrief.

“That’s the sum of it. Menae is lost. We have to move fast to even stand a chance of fighting back. The Turian Fleet isn’t going to mean much, soon,” she said, beginning to reassemble the Black Widow. 

John rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Any word from the others, EDI?” 

“Yes, Shepard. Liara’s mission was successful. They are returning to the Citadel for pick up. Thane reported that Lieutenant Commander Williams is awake and recovering. She requests a meeting the next time we dock. Zaeed sent word he took care of Aria T’Loak’s problems and we now have the combined forces of the Blue Suns, Eclipse, and Blood Pack on our side in the fight against the Reapers.” 

“That’s good news,” Jane said.

“For a given value of good,” John agreed, studying the model ships before him as his mind turned over the information. “If we survive this, the gangs will be a headache.”

“When,” Jane corrected. She left her rifle on the bed and crossed the room to study John’s hamster. “What about the others?”

“No word yet from Horizon or the Migrant Fleet. Would you like me to try to contact them, Captain Shepard?”

“Jane is fine,” she said. “Or this is going to devolve into a sitcom episode. Please.”

“Noted. There is one other thing. Specialist Traynor believes Grissom Academy is under attack.”

John’s head snapped up. “Jack,” he said.

“Subject Zero?” Jane asked, making the connections in her head. 

John slanted her a narrow eyed look. “Remind me to talk to you about respecting privacy and the legalities of hacking into Alliance systems.”

“Jack’s dossier was pulled off a Cerberus system,” Jane said. “Reapers?”

“Unconfirmed,” EDI said. “We intercepted a message that turian forces are evacuating the academy. Upon further analysis, the message contains markers consistent with the code used by Cerberus to lure you to the Collector’s ship.”

“Set a course for Grissom,” John said. “Get word to the others, see if there’s anyone closer who could help.”

“Very well, Shepard.”

Jane tapped on the Illusive Hamster’s cage. “How’d it go with the krogan?”

“Wrex is willing to hear us out, for a price. No word yet from the Dalatrass.” John said, standing. He stretched out the kinks in his back and went to his locker, pulling up the interface.

“Put word out that the krogan and turians are meeting for a diplomatic summit,” Jane said. “I don’t know if it’ll get the asari’s attention, but it should be enough to get the salarians to come, if only out of curiosity.”

John nodded. “EDI, send Liara a message asking her to put word out about the summit. We’ll pick them up after we see about Grissom.”

“Yes, commander.”

“I’ll talk to Charr. He can probably put a bug in Wrex’s ear about the summit and the Dalatrass.” Jane said, heading for the door. “Garrus can probably do the same with the Primarch.”

“Jane,” John said, stopping her before she could leave. “About Garrus--”

She stopped and turned back, her expression radiating neutral expectation. It was a dangerous look-- one he knew to be an eerie echo of when she focused on a target. 

“What’s your plan, there?” he asked.

“What makes you think I have a plan at all?” she asked. “I don’t always map things out.”

“Jane,” he said, again.

She arched a brow. “I’m not a child, John, and even when I was, I was capable of looking out for myself.”

“Who said I’m looking out for you?” he asked, with a bark of laughter. “Garrus’ a good man. One of the best of my crew and probably my closest friend, but he’s not good with women.”

“He does all right,” she said.

John winced, ignoring that. “You’re a pirate, Jane. Right now, every batarian alive wants your head on a pike, the Alliance wants you for war crimes, the Council has a seven figure bounty on your head, and Cerberus...” He left that unsaid, shrugged. “Garrus is loyal enough not to give a damn about any of it.”

“Thanks a lot. Look on the bright side, brother dear,” she said, slapping her palm against the door control panel. “Maybe the Reapers will win.”

***

“All ships open fire.”

Kal’s head snapped up at the order. He’d been monitoring Tali’s progress via Admiral Raan’s console in the command center and trying to make peace with Tali’s most recent report. The fact that he was happy Legion-- a damn _geth_ \-- was alive and well was strange enough. But Legion had been damn useful in a firefight, Kal remembered, but Reegars didn’t turn down skilled allies, race and rank be damned.

Tali’s startled question was wordless and echoed by the distant thunder of explosions. Gerral had looked away from the coms, his attention fully on the battle playing out before him on the main console. Kal pushed past him to activate the admiral’s frequency.

“All ships, belay that order!” Kal said. “Repeat, belay that. There is an admiral of the Fleet on that ship. Cease fire!” 

“Reegar!” Gerral grabbed Kal’s shoulder and spun him around. Gerral was so wrapped up in his battle lust, he didn’t notice Kal had drawn his pistol. “That was a direct order from your commanding officer. This is treason!”

“No, sir,” Kal said, stepping closer to the other man, until Gerral’s features became clear behind his visor. He pushed the pistol into Gerral’s ribs and he finally took notice. The admiral stiffened immediately. “That was insubordination. _Shooting_ your commanding officer is treason.”

The click of his safety was as sharp as a gunshot, in the suddenly silent room. Kal kept his eyes on Gerral and his finger on the trigger.

“Don’t mind demonstrating the difference,” he said. “Sir.” 

“I’ll have your head for this,” Gerral promised.

“No,” Raan said, softly, stepping up behind Kal. She laid a hand on the marine’s shoulder, fingers tightening in warning. “I do not think you will. Admiral Koris, I believe Han’Gerral has become compromised and as such, is unfit for duty. I fear he may be indoctrinated.”

“Seconded,” Koris agreed. “Reegar, you are hereby authorized to place Admiral Gerral under arrest pending an investigation and trial.”

Kal nodded once. “Yes, sir.”

He waited until he heard Tali’s voice over the coms, fresh and strong, before he escorted the admiral out. 

***

“Please,” Oriana begged. Henry Lawson was using a bank of computers and his youngest daughter for cover, a compact submachine gun pressed to her temple. Small caliber, but close enough that it wouldn’t matter. 

Miranda had hoped her father would listen to reason. It was foolish and she knew it, but too much time around John had made her think that maybe every problem could be fixed. Deep down, she knew only one of them was going to walk away from this happy. 

All she could do now was make sure it was her. “Just let her go. If you hurt her, I will kill you. I promise that.”

“You’ve ruined her!” Henry shouted at her, dragging Oriana back a step. Everything was crumbling around him. His precious legacy, his beautiful daughter-- he couldn’t call Miranda his, not until the Illusive Man’s mind control work proved successful-- had pulled a gun on him. Stupid, misguided thing. He didn’t have time to raise a third child!

Miranda was careful to keep her gaze on Henry, keep her gun level. She hadn’t expected to find herself in the middle of this stand off without back up. It was odd to be on her own again; somewhere along the line, she had gotten used to having Shepard’s solid will at her back.

Wishing was for children and fools, but sometimes, sometimes even fools got lucky. She ignored the faint glimmer and kept her attention on her father, looking for any chance to end this.

“You’re a monster,” Oriana sobbed, struggling against their father’s grip. “I saw what you’re doing to those people! You’re creating husks!”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said. “Foolish, stupid, little bitch. Your sister has twisted you against me, warped your mind! I will be remembered as the man--”

“Who talked too much,” a voice growled from behind him.

Pain blossomed in his chest, going nova inside him. It stole the breath from his lungs. Henry looked down at his chest in shock, unable to comprehend the stain of red spreading across his suit. His gun hit the floor with a clatter.

Randall caught the slip of a woman by her arm and held her up as Henry Lawson fell to the ground. Randall’s omniblade folded back and disappeared, smearing blood on the woman’s white dress. Hell of a way to end a family reunion, he thought, nudging the corpse with his boot as the girl gasped and clung to his shoulder. He pulled his pistol and put a round through the man’s head to make sure the bastard was dead.

Oriana shrieked at the shot, wild eyed, trying to jerk away from him but unable to stand on her own. He’d seen the look on civilians before, unused to the highs of a combat situation. Shock. 

“Hello,” he said to her. He stepped back as Miranda rushed forward, gathering her sister in her arms. He met Miranda’s gaze. “No wonder you wanted the bastard dead.”

“Thank you,” Miranda said.

Randall waved that off. Killing everything in your path to rescue something you loved-- _that_ he could understand. Leaving them to their reunion, he wandered over to the consoles to establish a link for Inali, scowling at the computers. He wasn’t one for tech unless it was an implant or a gun mod.

“You got an uplink coming your way, babe,” he said, as the sisters carried on behind him. “We secured little Lawson. Daddy’s dead.”

 “Jacob’s with Dr. Cole and her people now. Slight change to our itinerary. I’ve sent you the new exit point coordinates,” Inali purred in his ear. “We’re going to need to secure a larger ride than we initially planned. I hope you didn’t leave a mess, Rand.”

“Not as bad as that time on Menae. Route me so I can grab you. You’ll need an escort,” he said, absently following memorized instructions on how to crack into Cerberus’ files. He didn’t understand what the strings of symbols did, but Inali insisted they worked and he could follow directions easily enough. The computer screens flashed confirmations at him, filled with words like ‘transfer,’ ‘uplink established,’ and ‘connection found.’

“I do like a well trained man. Hit that green icon in the corner, then type tango-whiskey-aught-aught,” Inali said. 

Miranda stepped up beside him and brushed his hands aside, taking over with easy efficiency. “I’ve got it. Randall--” she started and he shook his head.

“Save it,” he said. “We’ve got to--”

“Well, well,” a voice purred, over Inali’s frequency. “What do we have here?”

Miranda froze. “Kai Leng,” she mouthed to Randall.

“Dr. Renata,” Leng continued. “We’ve been looking for you.”

Randall’s bellow of rage echoed through the compound. 

***

Following John Shepard to war had been the best split second decision Diana Allers ever made. She had made a lot of good decisions in the seconds between chance and reality. Her entire career had been built on them. Fortune favored the bold, her mother always said. Whether Shepard was one of those people who was simply always in the right place at the right time, or if he was the _source_ of the news, it didn’t matter. Wherever he went, action followed.

He was easy enough on the eyes, but she wasn’t a fool and certainly not stupid enough to get between him and Miranda Lawson. Good looking, charming, and at the heart of the war, she’d had plenty of time to analyze Commander Shepard’s impact on the galaxy. There was one, noticeable symptom of his work-- an expression she was beginning to think of as Shepardstruck. 

Commander Shepard was a force of nature. A charming, brilliant force of nature that was as easy to turn from his course as a charging krogan. Often, this left bystanders, (the Council, diplomats, shopkeepers,) with a bemused expression of fury and determination. She found it translated across races and species. When John Shepard wanted something done, no matter how insane, it happened, and you looked Shepardstruck when you realized he’d been two steps ahead of everything, the whole time.

Jane Shepard, on the other hand, had not nor never would be Shepardstruck, from what Diana had observed. She was plain old pissed off when she stormed onto the observation deck. She froze when she realized the room wasn’t empty.

“Hey,” Diana said, setting down her datapad. 

Jane stared at her a beat, gaze unsettling. Brother and sister shared that-- they had a way of looking at you, looking _into_ you, as if they were weighing your soul against a feather. Diana didn’t drop her eyes, but had to keep herself from squirming under the scrutiny. 

Jane finally passed her and went to the bar. Diana watched her pour a drink and toss it back with practiced ease. She stayed at the bar, braced on her hands, back to the other woman. But Diana had been ignored by the best and knew she was in the presence of an amateur. 

“Want to talk about it?” she asked. If she were going to swing, she might as well try to clear the outfield. There hadn’t been a whole lot of love lost between them, the few times they’d spoken, but no one became a reporter because they wanted to be liked. 

“Strictly between us girls and the rest of the galaxy?” Jane drawled.

“Something like that, yeah,” Diana said. “You’re not going to make me feel bad about asking the Lady Jane questions. Your and John’s relationship is the scoop of the century.”

Jane exhaled a mirthless laugh. “I bet. I’m the galaxy’s favorite bad guy and he’s golden boy.”

“Please. You’re maybe the galaxy’s fourth favorite bad guy,” Allers said after a moment’s consideration, “at best.”

Jane turned and leaned against the bar, neutral but hooked despite herself. “Fourth?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “I think I’m offended. Who beat me?”

“The Illusive Man and the Reapers,” Diana said, ticking them off on her fingers. “Definitely. Your brother asked me to raise morale for the war effort, but Cerberus has always been a fantastic black hat, no matter how you slice it.”

“That’s only two,” Jane said. “Who’s enemy number one?”

Diana smiled. “Whoever I say,” she said.

***

Ashley watched the door slide closed behind Udina, her head still spinning. She wasn’t sure if she’d made the right choice, but what was done was done. She was a Spectre. Shepard might have told her it was a bad choice. He might have told her it was a good one. She wished she knew for sure. She wished--

She wished a lot of things that didn’t really matter right now.

Squaring her shoulders, she left her room, heading into the hospital. It would be a few hours before Thane’s physical therapy class began, but she knew he’d be there already, taking advantage of the down time to keep sharp. It was shocking how easily they’d fallen into a routine-- even when she could barely make it through a class without tears of pain, she’d shown up early and worked with him one on one, determined to get control over her body again.

They talked poetry when she couldn’t, when her body refused to bend to her will, when the frustration became too much. The poets of the drell were heavily influenced by the hanar, but much more martial. He told her all drell were born loving poetry, no one had to be taught to love it, except his son, who seemed determined to do everything contrary to what his father expected. She could relate to that and told him about her father and growing up under his shadow. Somewhere along the line, they’d started seeking each other out, independent of physical therapy and the visits he referred to as necessary to ‘authenticate his reports to Commander Shepard.’ She’d thrown a book of Byron at his head for that quip. He’d caught it without looking.

He was stretching when she let herself in, practicing kata. She watched him move through the forms, taken by the play of light over his skin, the easy grace with which his body obeyed him, even as his health failed. She knew he caught sight of her immediately, but he showed no sign of it until he finished. He bowed before her.

“You are early,” he observed.

“I said yes,” she blurted. “Udina just finished with the details.”

He studied her, alien features revealing none of his thoughts. Ashley had hoped she’d eventually get better at reading his expressions, but outside her own species, she still had a difficult time. 

“He has another motive,” Thane said, finally. 

Her fury was sudden and harsh. “Thanks a lot,” she said, choking it back. 

“ _Siha_ , there is no other candidate more qualified for this than you,” Thane said. He paced away to stand at the windows, offering her his back. “But if that had been his only motivation, he would have offered this years ago.”

His voice echoed her own suspicions and took the bite out of her anger. She knew there was something else to this, but that didn’t mean she liked having it confirmed. She exhaled a long breath and watched his back. His shoulders tensed and relaxed as he rode out a wave of pain, flotsam on the sea of it. 

“You haven’t told me what _siha_ means,” she reminded him.

She caught his smile in the reflection on the glass. “No,” he agreed. “Not yet. Would you like to spar, or are there rules preventing Spectres from such things?”

“You know there aren’t,” she said. She watched his shoulders another moment and shook her head. “Let’s go celebrate, instead. I could use a meal not cooked by a nurse.”

Thane nodded and turned back to her. He paused when he passed her, cocking his head in that way he did, blinking a few times. She didn’t know what it meant, or why he did it, but she had the feeling he was memorizing parts of her, as if she were a poem he was trying to understand.


	12. School

Jack was not having her favorite day ever. 

If she were going to rank her Most Fucked Up Pain in the Ass Stupid Motherfucking Days Ever, it probably would break into the top five, though she wasn’t ready to put it ahead of ‘The Day She Followed Shepard into a Collector Base on Some Stupid Ass Mission to Save the Galaxy,’ though it would probably beat ‘That Day She Decided to Let Rodriguez Demonstrate Shockwave Techniques.’ 

She felt another amp fizzle and pop as it burned out and narrowed her eyes as the strain of holding the barrier intensified. She glanced over her shoulder to see her students all huddled in cover and dropped the barrier she’d been using to hold off the worst of the attacks while they made a run for it. She dove behind one of the dumb ass planters that Grissom put fucking everywhere for ‘ambiance’ or whatever. A chip of concrete hit her cheek, stinging, as a round clipped the decorative edge. Maybe she should rethink Grissom’s pansy-ass-ness. Maybe they put the damn things everywhere because they made excellent cover in a firefight.

She checked her clips. “Ammo check,” she called, looking the students over. 

“Out.” 

“One clip.” 

“I lost my gun going for cover, ma’am.”

Jack swore under her breath. She had two clips left, a knife, one functional amp, and a handful of baby biotics who were scared out of their minds. Against… she poked her head up, scanned the room, and ducked back into cover. Against what looked like an entire company of trained, elite Cerberus troops. 

“Fuck,” she breathed, slamming the new clip home. “Get ready to move,” she told the students. “I’ll cover you. Make for the emergency bay and keep your heads _down._ Stay in cover!” 

She sucked in a breath and tensed, ready to throw up another barrier, when a voice came over her channel.

“Heard you might need some help.”

Jack froze in disbelief, then threw back her head and laughed. She scrambled to activate her com. “About time you lazy f-” she looked at the students and caught herself, “...fools showed up. I thought I was going to have to do all the killing myself. Again.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sit tight, princess.”

Prangley stared at her. “Wh-who was that?”

Jack grinned at him as the first explosive roar of a shotgun echoed through the room. “Back up.”

***

Liara interrupted Samara's meditations when she stormed out of the airlock. She watched the maiden stomp away from their shuttle, her hands in fists and her entire being radiating frustrated anger. Liara shut her eyes and exhaled several times in succession, without any apparent result.

It appeared she had been speaking with their newest addition again.

Samara released the energy she’d been holding and rose, unfolding from her seat on the floor of the docks. This caused several nearby refugees to flinch away, but she ignored them as she approached Liara.

“Oh!” Liara started, surprised by what must have seemed like a sudden appearance. 

“You have been speaking to Javik,” Samara observed.

Liara touched her fingertips to her forehead, shaking her head slightly. “Yes. I just don’t understand why he refuses to help! There is so much we can learn from him, but all he does is--”

“Mourn the loss of his species?” Samara supplied, arching a brow. The girl had enough presence of mind to look chagrined.

“I…” she started, then huffed out another breath. Morinth used to do a similar thing when she was particularly frustrated, Samara recalled.

 She smiled slightly at the maiden. “You offer him distraction,” she explained. “Is it any wonder he refuses you?” 

Liara frowned in confusion, looking up at her. “Why would he refuse a distraction? I’d think he’d want to… not think about the loss for a little while, help with the efforts to stop the Reapers.”

The question and confusion were genuine, and not for the first time since their acquaintance, Samara was reminded of how old she was, how far removed from this time she’d become. So few of the young asari understood what it was to be a warrior, to truly understand discipline, to know only war and battle. Liara was an academic, a creature of analysis and luxury, though Samara knew she would not think of it in such a way. There was little time for academic study on a battlefield and it was a testament to long generations of peace that Liara had trouble conceiving of such a thing.

“I cannot speak for a prothean,” Samara said, turning her gaze to scan the docks. Security did not particularly care for her presence on the docks, but the refugees tended to walk softer when she was there.

“You-” Liara bit back whatever she'd been about to say, catching her frustration. Samara ignored the gaff. It had been a long time since Liara had kept the company of her own people, much less a matriarch and a Justicar. “You must have some thoughts on the subject,” she said, tone more appropriately moderated.

“I do,” Samara agreed. She waited until Liara shifted her weight in impatience before she continued. “He is the only remaining survivor of his people and has woken to find that the war is not over. There is no hope of victory.” Samara closed her eyes, feeling a significant presence on the other side of the hatch. The prothean come to listen, she imagined. He was not as unmoved by Liara’s distraction as he led her to believe. “Only justice. Justice requires such focus.”

Liara looked down, biting her lip but not speaking her mind. She finally looked up, over her shoulder at the hatch. “That is a terrible way to live,” she said, softly.

“It is the only way to survive,” Samara said, returning to her spot on the docks and her meditation.

***

There was a headache brewing behind John’s eyes, a wicked one that threatened to blur out his vision. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sucked in a breath, forcing the tension from his shoulders, pulling the pain into himself. It was an old soldier’s trick, older than him, and rarely worked the way recruits wished it would. With practice, though, he’d seen veterans use it to shrug off bullet wounds.

When the pain passed enough for him to focus again, he replayed Miranda’s transmission. The message played again, none the better for the second listen. A Cerberus agent had Inali Renata and Ezno was on a rampage, unwilling to waste any time with a rendezvous. He needed Miranda and Jacob back so they could follow up on Wrex’s demand for a rescue op on Sur’Kesh. Tali had sent word of a coup of some sort-- quarian politics were hard to follow at the best of times and impossible over a brief, long range message. She needed back up if he could send it; there was significant Reaper movement in the area. They were en route to Grissom already, but he still had a hundred other leads they needed to follow up on.

He needed his crew back and a fleet of FTL capable ships. While he was wishing, he added a magic wand that could stop the Reapers and a decent steak to the list.

He leaned forward and recorded a message to send back to Miranda.

“Shepard.” 

He leaned back in his chair, tilting his head back to find Garrus in the doorway. The turian was kitted out, though, Shepard reflected, that wasn’t really unusual. “What’s up, Garrus?”

“Did I hear that right? Cerberus took Dr. Renata?” Garrus flicked his gaze to the now still holographic form of Miranda.

Shepard met Garrus’s gaze. “No,” he said, evenly. “You didn’t.”

Garrus flared his mandibles, looking between the hologram and Shepard. “You’re going to lie to her,” he said, voice devoid of inflection. Shepard had worked with Garrus too long for that to hide anything from him.

“I’m not,” Shepard said. “I’m going to tell her after we get Jack off Grissom and pick up the others. We need to regroup and get to Sur’Kesh, fast.”

“And Inali?” Garrus asked, mandibles held tight against his jaw.

“Why do you think Cerberus took her?” Shepard asked. “She’s bait, Garrus. We can go running into the trap after we’ve figured out what it is.” 

Garrus was silent for a long minute. “What about Miranda and Jacob? Ezno's going to put up a fight,” he said, finally.

 “They’re going to meet us on the Citadel with the Sanctuary refugees. Nothing’s changed.” Shepard stood up, sighing. “Garrus, there’s more at stake right now than one woman. Cerberus isn’t our enemy right now, the Reapers are.”

Garrus shook his head and drew himself up, checking the clip on his rifle with a focus that betrayed barely controlled emotion. "Joker says we’re nearing Grissom and should be able to approach any minute. We're going in hot.”

John exhaled a long breath, watching his friend disappear back onto the elevator. 

Then he grabbed his gun and went down to join the fray.

***

“Got word from Shepard that Grissom was in trouble and thought I’d bring some of the boys out to see what a real fight looked like,” Zaeed said, exhaling smoke. He was sitting on the floor of an administrative office beside Jack, their backs to the housing of a communications array. 

Outside the empty bay windows of the office, Blue Suns, Eclipse, and Bloodpack mercs rounded up the last of Cerberus’ forces, collected weapons off the dead, and swapped stories so full of shit Jack was surprised she couldn’t smell them. The surviving students and staff were mostly grouped together, watching as they waited for the mercs to finish up. 

Jack finished off her fourth energy bar, balling up the wrapper. “Are you sure you brought the manpower to handle Cerberus if they send reinforcements?” she asked, watching her students as they joked and laughed in frantic relief. She hadn't lost any. Dumb kids.

Zaeed handed her another energy bar without commenting on it. “Girlie, I brought enough firepower to to handle the whole damn Alliance.”

She snorted a laugh. “Last I heard, that means fuck-all.”

He puffed on the cigar thoughtfully, examining a scrape on his forearm. “Shepard’s back in recruitment,” he said. “Expect he should be showing up anytime.”

She made a thoughtful sound, mouth full. But it was good to know; if Shepard had gotten free of that trial bullshit, they might stand a chance after all. She felt Zaeed’s eyes on her and glanced up, flicking him off.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” he asked, grunting when she leaned across him to snag another juice box. She sucked down a gulp and shrugged.

“What’re you looking at, old man?” she asked.

He reached out and fingered her ponytail. “Just wondering when you went all pretty pretty princess on me,” he said.

“Fuh- Screw you,” she said, knocking his hand away. “I’m still bad enough to take you down, geezer.”

He caught her wrist in a bruising grip and raised his eyebrows. “What’s with the schoolmarm routine?”

She jerked at her arm, but it was a token resistance. “The Alliance has all these damn rules about professionalism.” She rolled her eyes.

“That why you’re wearing a shirt?” he asked, barking out a laugh. “Didn’t you hear? World’s ending, girlie. Don’t think the Alliance gives a damn about you right now.”

“In that case...” She smiled, leaning in close enough to taste the cigar smoke on his breath. He narrowed his eyes and tensed for an attack, but his gaze dropped to her lips when she licked them.

“Fuck you,” she said, shoving him back. She grinned at him, puffing on his cigar. He stared at her for a long beat, then huffed out a laugh and settled back beside her, their shoulders touching.

"You need a shower first," he said.

An explosion shook the school, making them both look up.

“Think that’s Shepard?” Jack asked.

Zaeed listened a second more-- another blast came, rattling the console. “Yeah, sounds about right.”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long!


	13. Shift

Ashley drummed her fingers along the console of Spectre communications, shaking her head. “Wrex, I don’t know. If I get involved, it will be an official act by the Alliance.”

The holograph of Wrex made a sound of dismissive disgust. “How’s that different from Shepard going to investigate? Grow a quad, girl.”

“That the salarians would take genophage resistant krogan females is not beyond the realm of possibility,” Thane said from behind her. He was leaning against the side of the weapons locker, watching her converse with Wrex. “I assisted Shepard when he prevented a rogue salarian scientist from something similar. Dr. Solus seemed to believe the scientist was close to engineering a cure.” 

“You’re not even supposed to be here,” Ashley told him.

“I am not here,” he said, returning her look with one of serene amusement. “Were you to replay any of the security footage, you would see that is true. Though it will probably look odd that you are conversing with a weapons locker.”

Ashley rolled her eyes at him and returned her attention to Wrex. “And you think the rogue doctor’s work made the salarians nervous enough to take geneophage resistant females captive?” 

“I know it did,” Wrex said, with absolute certainty. Not that Ashley had ever known him to show any uncertainty, no matter the validity of the subject.

“Why haven’t you asked Shepard?” she asked.

“Did,” Wrex said. No other explanation was forthcoming and Ashley huffed a breath of frustration.

“And?” she prompted.

“I’m not stupid, girl. Shepard was the only option when I asked. Can’t send a krogan to Sur’kesh and the salarians aren’t about to cop to holding political prisoners. The Alliance doesn’t care about our females, but Shepard’s a Spectre and a war hero. He’s got connections. He could get it done,” Wrex said. The krogan shifted his bulk, shaking his head. “But there’s bigger issues than my people at stake. He’s going to need to stay neutral, if he’s wants to bring the council together to fight the Reapers. Means picking a fight with the salarians might not be the best option for him.”

“But you didn’t have another choice,” Ashley finished.

Wrex nodded. “Until I heard you were promoted. Remember Spectre authority was a damn useful thing to have.”

Ashley sat back in her chair, trying to sort out the best course. Wrex wasn’t wrong about the situation-- if Shepard went, it would cause problems with diplomatic relations, especially if Wrex was wrong about the salarians. Definitely, if Wrex was right.

She looked at Thane. He was studying the weapons case thoughtfully, eyes on the Black Widow rifle locked inside. “I’ll need help,” she said.

“I am not sure a dying political assassin is the best option to watch your back, _siha_ ,” Thane said, turning away from the gun.

“I am,” she said. “You’re probably the most politically neutral of all us and no one can discount a drell’s testimony, ex-assassin or not.” 

“And if combat is required?” he asked. “I would be a liability in a fight."

“Bull. Even if you couldn’t fight circles around me, something you did half an hour ago in training, by the way,” she pointed out, turning to face him fully, “you’re still the best spotter I could find.” His color was better today than it had been in a while, despite their sparring session. His protest rang of self-pity. She ignored Wrex’s amused rumble of laughter. “Thane, if you can’t do this, say so. I’ll march you up to the hospital and admit you myself.”

Thane held her gaze for a long minute before he blinked, ducking his head slightly to hide a smile. “Very well, _siha,_ I will accompany you,” he said.

“Damn straight,” she said, turning back to Wrex. “We’ll leave as soon as possible and I’ll report back after we look around. Send me all the information you have-- I’ll look it over on the way.” 

***

“I have to say,” Jane said, kicking over the corpse of a Guardian. “I was expecting a little more of a fight.”

Garrus bent down to study the discoloration and rot that marked the Guardian’s face. “We could hop over to Hades Gamma, see if the Reapers have taken over,” he suggested.

“It’s been a few weeks since I faced impossible odds,” Jane said, bringing up her omnitool to check her messages. “But what if there’s only one Destroyer?”

“We’d probably have to share,” he said.

“I never really learned the trick of sharing,” she said, shaking her head and making a face at her omnitool.

Garrus caught the frown as he straightened, cocking his head in inquiry.

“Randall hasn’t checked in for a while,” she explained, shrugging. “I wonder if John’s heard from Miranda.”

Garrus looked away from her, watching as mercs and students readied for departure. He focused on John, speaking to Kahlee, with particular attention. “What’s his story, anyway?” he asked. “Randall doesn’t seem like the type to join a crew with a quarian, an asari, and a krogan.”

“Aeian and Charr are new recruits,” she said, shrugging. “But you’re not wrong. A smuggling contact of mine put us in touch. He needed help for Inali and no one wants to take calls from an ex-Cerberus hunter. I owed my contact a favor, so I helped out.”

“And now he’s your first mate?” Garrus asked, careful of his inflection.

She slanted a look up at the turian, eyebrow raised. “Not quite, but something like that. He’s one of the few people in the galaxy who hates Cerberus as much as I do. Why? He give you some trouble?”

Garrus shook his head. “Nothing like that. Just seems like an odd choice.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Randall’s racist, mean, and probably more than a little psychotic, but going into a fight, there aren’t many others I’d want at my back. I’ve seen him take down krogan easier than most people tie their shoes.” Jane watched a heavily tattooed woman stalk over to John, trailed by Zaeed. 

No one made any moves as the woman said something, then slugged John with what looked like a vicious left hook.

John shook his head as if to clear it and said something to the woman that seemed to make her laugh. Jane glanced up at Garrus again, this time for an explanation.

“Jack,” he said. “She’d probably disagree with you.”

“About what?” Jane asked.

“Who hates Cerberus the most.”

Jane grinned. “I think I’m going to like her.”

***

Pella stood in front of Legion, head tilted slightly, studying the unit. Legion watched as she held out a hand-- there was a small port on the underside of her wrist.

Legion pulled free a cable from the processing unit of the platform and plugged it into the port, startled when Pella began to communicate with its runtimes, taking it in stride. She was slower to process than most of the runtimes, but still much more adept than any organic Legion had encountered. 

“You accepted the Reaper code willingly,” Pella said, aloud.

“Affirmative,” Legion said.

“They will not understand your reasons for doing so,” she said. “It was a logical decision, but not a good one.”

“We felt there was little choice,” Legion said.

“That is not a valid argument,” she said. “Choice or no, you understood the consequences.”

“Possibility of negative consequences was--” Legion started.

“Almost certain,” Pella said, interrupting. She withdrew her hand and shook her head, swaying slightly. “This was not a good choice to make. You did not save yourselves from extinction, only traded one executioner for another.”

“We felt there was little choice,” Legion repeated, but the platform lowered its head.

Pella shook her head again, sighing. She looked down the dreadnought’s hangar to where Aeian and Tali were securing their departure. “I do not know if we can correct this. The quarians will not accept that logic.”

“We are considering possible solution scenarios,” Legion said. “So far, there are no possible outcomes with any significant percentage of survival.”

“For the geth?” she asked.

“For all sentient creatures,” Legion said.

*** 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Part Two.


	14. Trouble

“Sir.”

Udina looked up from the latest intel reports from Earth. A C-Sec officer stood in his doorway.

“Captain?” he asked. 

“You asked me to report if Spectre Williams left the Citadel,” the turian said.

Udina closed the reports and nodded for the captain to continue.

“She departed for Sur’Kesh with an unnamed companion,” he said.

“Thank you, captain,” Udina said. “You work down at the docks, correct?”

The turian nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Has the Normandy been in port lately?” 

The turian flared his mandibles in thought, then shook his head. “No, sir.”

Udina looked thoughtful, then leaned forward and pressed the com for his assistant. “Do we have word on the Normandy’s location?” he asked.

A tinny voice came over the speaker. “Yes, sir. Commander Shepard reported in that the Grissom Academy had been attacked by Cerberus, but the station is now secured.”

Udina nodded to himself, then looked back at the turian. “Any other arrivals or departures I should know about?” he asked.

“Not to my knowledge, sir,” the turian said.

“Thank you. That will be all.”

The captain turned to go, pausing only momentarily when he heard Udina call his assistant.

“Move my three o’clock up. I had a cancellation.” 

The captain paused outside the councilor’s office, processing what had just happened and sorting out the vague feeling of unease. He saluted to Bailey when the man came out of his office, muttering about something on his omnitool. 

It was weird enough that Bailey stopped in his tracks and gave the turian a look. None of the C-Sec officers saluted Bailey unless the brass was watching or they were fresh recruits-- he didn't have the time or patience for that sort of ceremony. This officer was a veteran and knew that. Something was up.

“About time you showed up,” Bailey said, lying as only a seasoned cop could. He abruptly turned on his heel to go back into his office. “I’ve been waiting for an hour, captain.”

The captain picked right up on it and followed him in, stopping when Bailey leaned against his desk. The C-Sec commander fiddled with his omnitool, not quite locking the door to the offices, but running a neat little program he'd gotten from Shepard the last time he'd visited the Citadel. The quarian girl who travelled with him had made it; it didn't lock doors, just jammed them for a few minutes. Long enough to warn whoever was inside without appearing too suspicious. He finally folded his arms across his chest.

“You’re the dock captain down on 24, right?” Bailey asked. “The one with the girl?”

The turian looked uncertain, but nodded. Bailey waved it off. “I couldn’t care less about the girl, captain. What’d Udina want with you?”

“He asked me to report to him when Spectre Ashley Williams left the Citadel,” he said.

“He say why?” Bailey asked.

“No, sir.”

“When did she leave?” he asked.

“Early this morning.”

Bailey checked his watch, then smirked slightly. “Took you a while to get up here,” he observed.

“Councilor Udina didn’t specify a time frame for ‘immediately,’” the captain said. “It’s been busy down on 24.”

“I bet. You tell him _when_ she left?” Bailey had to admire the turians. They knew how to say absolutely nothing when they answered a question.

“No, sir. He--”

“Didn’t ask. Dumb bastard,” Bailey finished.

“Sir.”

Bailey considered the information, then nodded. “What else, captain?”

“He asked if the Normandy had docked recently,” the captain said. He added: “it hasn’t,” when Bailey waved him on. “According to the councilor’s assistant, it just finished securing Grissom Academy from Cerberus.”

Bailey leaned over on his desk and pulled up the reports he’d seen earlier. “That was half a day ago,” he said. “The news has been running reports on it for hours now.”

“Yes, sir. The Normandy radioed about an hour ago with a docking manifest.” The turian’s expression didn’t betray anything, but Bailey laughed.

“You sonovabitch. When did they put for their arrival?” 

“Early this evening.”

“Remind me to put you up for a promotion, captain. Anything else?”

“He asked about arrivals and departures he should know about. There haven’t been any.”

“None at all?” Bailey asked.

“None that would be reported to the Council. There is a shuttle down in D24 that arrived yesterday. Manifest lists four crew, nothing unusual.” The turian’s omnitool pinged, but he ignored it.

“Sounds suspicious,” Bailey agreed. “But definitely C-Sec business, not anything to worry the council about. You have any information on it that suggests we should worry about it?”

“No, sir. It all matches up. But…” The turian paused, weighed his options, then shifted his weight back. “Kid likes to walk down there to look for her family.”  

“That’s your girl?” Bailey asked. “What’d she see?”

“The shuttle’s a Kodiak. Designation on the side is NS1. The four crew appear to be ‘an asari maiden, real pretty and super nice, really smart, an asari matriarch, she’s supposed to be a real, live Justicar, have you ever met one? She’s kinda scary! Some big human guy with a lot of tattoos who’s probably a soldier or whatever and a green alien dude with four eyes and a weird head and he’s really grumpy looking but I only saw him for a second.’” The turian pitched his voice higher, then flared his mandibles and looked at Bailey. “Sir.”

“That a direct quote?” Bailey asked.

 The turian gave Bailey a look that could only be described as both long-suffering and proud. “Yes, sir.”

“She’d make one hell of an agent,” Bailey said. “That sound like anyone to you?”

“Yes, sir. Shepard travelled with them. Sounds like Professor Liara T’soni, Justicar Samara, and Alliance Lieutenant James Vega. He plays cards on the docks with some of the boys. No leads on the green alien dude.” The turian’s omnitool pinged again. He checked it, tapped something into it, and looked back at Bailey. “Anything else, sir?”

“When do you get off shift?” Bailey asked.

 The turian answered without hesitation: “Two hours from now.”

Bailey watched him, silently, waiting.

“Half an hour ago, sir,” the turian said.

“You still have a place around here or are you one of the ones living on the docks now?” Bailey asked. He turned a blind eye to the number of officers who slept in the offices, having given their personal quarters to refugees with no where else to go.

“I still have a place,” the turian said.

“Get your girl to it and secure her, then report back to me. I don’t like this. Something’s up.” 

The turian nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Spread the word,” Bailey added. “But keep it tight. Just officers you’d trust with your life.”

The turian nodded again and left.

***

“You know, my father used to say ‘drell have amazing self awareness,” Ashley said, crouched behind the railing of what had once been a pristine salarian lab. She exhaled, lining up a guardian through her scope, and adjusted slightly to compensate for the wind. “‘You should always listen to them when they tell you they’re too weak to be any use on a mission, Ash,’” she said, deepening her voice. She dropped the guardian and reloaded.

“He sounds like a very wise man, _siha,_ ” Thane said, grunting as a centurion caught him with a lucky right hook. He brought the blade of his hand down between the human’s helmet and shoulder, dropping him. 

A nemesis’ head exploded to his right. “He never said that, Thane,” Ashley said.

Thane spun, lashing out with his leg and knocking down an engineer in the process of deploying a turret. The man fell on his turret and screamed in agony as it went off, blowing open his chest in a spray of bullets and gore. 

  “No one has ever said that,” Ashley clarified. 

“You sound very,” Thane paused, ducked away from an assault trooper’s attack, and lashed out. He vaulted over the trooper and swept his legs from under him, “certain of that.”

“Drop,” Ashley said sharply and Thane hit the ground immediately, flattening himself seconds before a spray of bullets peppered the air above him. He’d missed a turret. The troopers he’d been fighting were not so lucky and spasmed as they caught each bullet.

Ashley fired off three shots in rapid succession, taking out the turret. “There’s no--”

She was watching Thane in her sights, so she saw him clearly when he rose and turned to look up at her. He smiled up at her, a little breathless from the fight. She smiled back, knowing he couldn't see it. He was a pleasure to watch work; she couldn't remember the last time she'd been so in sync with a partner. If he was this good at the end of his life, she wondered what he'd been in his prime.

In her sights, his expression suddenly changed to alarm. She saw it filter over his face before he seemed to disappear into thin air.

“Thane!” she shouted, lifting her head to search the battle below. There was a soft crack behind her, then a thud.

“Yes, _siha_?” Thane asked.

She twisted to see him standing behind her, a dead phantom at his feet. The agent had been about to ambush her.

“How--” she started, running calculations in her head. It was impossible for him to have covered that much distance in such a short time.

“Would advise expediency,” Mordin interrupted. “We cannot clear the checkpoint without your assistance.”

Thane looked down at the remaining Cerberus troops. “Go,” he told her. "I will finish here."

Ashley folded up her rifle and sprinted for the next checkpoint.

***

John watched Jane and Jack laugh from what he hoped was a safe distance. The two women were leaning against the edge of the CIC and it looked like they were comparing scars. Both of them paused, looked across the map at him, and broke out into fresh laughter.

“Do you think I should be worried about that?” John asked Traynor, nodding to the women.

She looked up at the women. “Yes, sir, definitely.”

He made a face at her. “You’re a huge comfort.”

“That’s why I’m here,” she said, returning to her work. “There’s a new message for you on the terminal.”

He leaned over the railing of the platform, turning the screen of his terminal to pull up the message. He was surprised by the stamp on it. It was from Ashley, by way of Sur’Kesh.

_S--_

_W asked me to investigate the situation on Sur’Kesh. T and I checked it out and ran into an old friend of yours. W's intel wasn’t wrong. Had to make a hard exit when Cerberus showed up. Have conclusive evidence, a salarian with excellent taste in musicals, and news to tell you. Meet us at the Citadel as soon as you’re able._

_-A_

He finished reading and sent a confirmation back to her, along with encrypted coordinates for a meeting. The next message was from Miranda, along the same lines; she’d arrived at the Citadel and their team was waiting in a hotel room. He scanned the rest of the messages and pulled up on one from the salarian councilor. Though brief, it was surprising. He raised his eyebrows as he read the accusations against Udina. It was rare for the Council to willingly involve him in their political interplay. Definitely worth checking out, especially since he'd be there anyway. He signed out and straightening up.

“You could just walk around, you know,” Traynor said.

“And deny you the chance to admire my butt?” he said, waggling his eyebrows. She rolled her eyes at him. He hopped off the platform and headed for the bridge. 

“Hey, Shepard!” Jack said, as he passed.

He stopped. “You two getting along?” he asked.

“You never told me you got stabbed in the ass,” Jack said, accusingly.

“And you never told me it happened _again_ ,” Jane added, grinning.

He shook his head and sighed. “The idea of you two being friends just fills me with joy,” he said. “You have no idea.”

Jane fell into step with him as he continued on his way. “Any word from Sanctuary?” she asked.

“They’re meeting us on the Citadel,” John said. He stopped at the bridge and looked down at Joker, who was frowning. 

“Alliance control, this is Normandy, we’re heading to Bay 1-4, Zakera Ward. Are we cleared to descend?” Joker asked, then shook his head at Shepard, spreading his hands in frustration. “Nothing.”

“Malfunction?” Jane asked, scanning the read-outs.

“Even if there was, they’d have backups online. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.” Joker frowned, pulling up the emergency band. “I’m checking emergency channels.”

They were silent as Joker listened, speaking briefly with whoever was on the other side of the line. He finally disconnected, pulling up a new call. “Commander, I’ve got a communication from Miranda. Think you’ll want to hear this.”

“Put her through,” John said.

“Shepard,” Miranda’s voice came through. “Cerberus has attacked the Citadel and has control of the docks. The entire place is crawling with troops.”

“Are you safe?” he asked.

“As I can be,” she said. “Liara and the others are on D24, but I haven’t been able to contact them since Cerberus hit.” There was a tense pause as gunfire filtered over the com. “They probably took down the main communication system and intranet.” 

“What about Ashley and Thane?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I didn’t realize they were here. If they are, I haven’t seen or heard from them.”

John looked at Jane, who shook her head and sprinted to the CIC. He watched her speak with Traynor. “I’ve got Ashley!” Traynor shouted to him a minute later.

“Where are you?” John asked Miranda. “We’ll find you.”

“No, I’m going to go find the Council. There’s a good chance this attack is aimed at them,” she said. 

“What about Jacob?” John asked.

“He’s going to stay with Randall. He’s still heavily sedated.” 

Joker’s eyebrows raised at that, but John just nodded. “Be careful. We’ll be there soon.”

“No promises.”

The message disconnected as Jane came back. “Williams and Krios are headed to C-Sec headquarters. She said the attack seems to be focused there, but they’ve been able to hold it so far. Bailey’s trying to organize a counter attack,” she said. “No word from Liara and the others.”

John nodded. “Get us as close as you can,” he told Joker, heading for the elevator. “Traynor, get everyone ready and inform Zaeed to have his troops ready to follow us. We’re going in hot. Put word out that this might be targeted toward the Council, but it might be a distraction. I want the Councilors secured and held until I can speak with them. There’ve been accusations of a traitor.”

“Monitor the emergency frequencies,” Jane added. “Cerberus hit Grissom and now they’re attacking the Citadel. I don’t think they have enough troops to make a third strike, but a targeted, elite team isn't out of the question. If this is a distraction from something else, we need to be ready to move fast. If someone can get Aria T’Loak, patch her through to my omnitool.”

“Aye!” Traynor called. She furiously began relaying the information as the doors of the elevator closed on the twins.

“If Liara and the others are on the docks--” Jane started.

“We’ll regroup with them and work our way up. Zaeed and the mercs can follow and hold the floors as we secure them,” John finished, nodding. “Two man teams?”

Jane shrugged. “I can move faster by myself.”

“You can die quicker, too,” he said. “Take Garrus.”

She raised her eyebrows at her brother. “Are you sure I won’t corrupt his innocent mind?”

“I was told he could handle himself,” John said. He raised an eyebrow back at her.

“Aw, you’re setting me up!” she said, knocking against his shoulder with her own. “What a wonderful little brother you are.”

He followed her off the elevator. “I was born first,” he said. “I’m your older brother.”

“Whatever you say,” she said.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To see more of the turian C-Sec captain and his 'girl', read 'Serve and Protect' available now at your local 'other works by this author' page!


	15. Promotion

Kal was speaking with Admirals Koris and Raan when Tali arrived in the command room of the ship. He was standing at attention again, shoulders back and steadfastly watching the air between the admirals. Whatever they were saying, he was not pleased to hear it. He didn’t look up when she entered with Legion.

“Ultimately, it is not your decision,” Raan was saying. “The Heavy Fleet has always been something of an exception in this sort of thing.”

“Not my place, ma’am,” Kal said. “Wouldn’t look right, considering.”

“I might agree with you, if we weren’t in the middle of a damn war and if you were anyone but a Reegar,” Koris said. “But the fact is, no one can claim your family has any political motivations. Most people are of the opinion that your grandfather died because they were talking about doing the same thing to him. To try and frame this as a coup would be utter idiocy.” 

“Kal?” Tali said, stopping beside him. She set her hand at the small of his back as she looked at the other admirals. He didn’t relax a muscle.

“Ma’am,” he said and if his bearing hadn’t betrayed him, his voice certainly did. He was upset and angry.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, sharper now. 

“Besides everything?” Koris asked. “Gerral was stripped of his rank for his attack on the dreadnought.”  

Tali couldn’t find it in her to be surprised, though she was dismayed to have caused such upheaval. It seemed so odd, that _she_ could cause such a dramatic change. 

“I heard some of it over the open channel,” she said. She looked up at Kal again, who was still staring straight ahead. She frowned, trying to sort out the situation. “What does that mean for the Heavy Fleet?”

“That was what they were discussing,” Xen said, from across the room. Her arms were folded across her chest, but her posture wasn’t overly aggressive. She was watching everything the same way a predator might watch prey. “Under normal circumstances, I would work with the next ranking officer to oversee the Heavy Fleet until a new admiral was appointed. Unfortunately, we are at war, so those regulations do not apply.”

“In the event of an admiral’s death or removal during wartime, the other admirals are empowered to designate a replacement without the Conclave’s majority vote,” Koris explained. “Should the admiral be placed in command of the Heavy Fleet, the only stipulation is that the replacement must be active military.”

“And the candidate must also agree,” Raan said. She looked at Kal pointedly.

“Which,” Xen added, “Kal’Reegar seems reluctant to do.”

“Kal?” Tali asked, trying to see his face. “What are your objections?”

Kal shifted his weight, turning his head away from her. She could not see the look he gave the other admirals, but everything in his posture radiated controlled violence. Quarians spoke more with posture and body language than other species; the subtle shift of his weight betrayed his vivid anger with the others. She had heard the soldiers tell stories about him before, rumors and tall tales about the men he led, his ferocity in battle. He was a Reegar, and Reegars had always been known to be deadly and efficient, but she rarely saw that side of him, even on Haestrom. She saw it all too clearly now, as he looked at the other admirals. Raan stood her ground, but Koris backed up a step, flinging his arms up.

“You talk to him,” Koris said. “ _Bosh’tet_ won’t listen to us.”

“We’ll give you a moment,” Raan said, more gently. She and Koris joined Xen on the other side of the room. Xen had lost interest in the proceedings and was questioning Legion.

“Kal?” Tali prompted again, quietly.

Kal exhaled, his attention still on the others, but some of the anger drained out of him. She reached up to turn his helmet and force him to look at her.

“I held a gun on Gerral,” he said, in an undertone. “What is that going to look like, that I threatened my commanding officer and now they’re making me an admiral? I should be right next to him in the brig.”

Tali tilted her head enough to hide the surprise on her face. “He gave an order to attack another admiral,” she said. “ _That_ is treason, Kal’Reegar. Isn’t it your duty to intervene in such cases?”

He shook his head, finally focusing on her. He bent his head enough for her to see his face. There was a banked rage in his eyes that made her want to grab for her shotgun. 

“No,” he said. “I wasn’t thinking about duty, Tali. I was thinking I wanted the _bosh’tet_ dead, for putting you in danger. I wanted to put him in pain. That’s not honor; that’s just plain criminal. They can’t make me an admiral for it.”

She bit her lip, considering him. Whatever she thought about it, (and after hearing that, she certainly had quite a few thoughts,) he was torn by his actions and clearly upset. She finally nodded and shifted her weight, accepting his reasoning. “Fine,” she said. “I will support another candidate. Tell me who.”

He stared at her. “What?”

“Did I stutter, soldier?” she asked, her voice edged. “Tell me who is a better candidate, and I will put their name forward instead of yours. You must have someone in mind, someone better qualified than you. You cannot tell me you would leave the Heavy Fleet with _no_ admiral at all in a time of war, only because you do not believe you are worthy of the job.”

She watched him think it over. She saw the frustration, exasperation, and finally, weary acceptance as it flashed across his shoulders. He groaned. “You’re an infuriatingly merciless woman, ma’am,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

She cocked a hip. “And do not forget it, Kal’Reegar.”

He pressed his fingers against the side of her helmet briefly before turning to the other admirals. “Admiral Koris,” he said, nodding to the door. The two men stepped out.

Tali watched the door, trying to gauge what was happening. 

“What do you think?” Raan came up behind her and linked her arm through Tali’s.

“I think he is a better choice than he knows,” Tali said, leaning into her aunt’s comforting presence. “But I am biased.”

“He is a good match for you, Tali,” Raan said. “Your father would have approved.”

Kal came back in a second later, followed by Koris, who was typing on his omnitool. Koris finished whatever he was working on and went to his console. “I’m pulling up a fleet-wide transmission,” Koris said. “We will all need to give authorization.”

Raan squeezed Tali’s arm before going to a console. Tali went to her own, watching as Kal approached another.

“This is Admiral Zaal’Koris vas Quib Quib,” Koris said.

“Admiral Shala’Raan vas Tonbay,” she said.

Xen shifted her weight, considering Kal for a long moment before she leaned forward to speak into her microphone. “Admiral Daro’Xen vas Moreh.”

 “Admiral Tali’Zorah vas Normandy,” Tali said.

“Announcing the arrest of Admiral Han’Gerrel vas Neema on charges of treason and suspicion of indoctrination. HIs replacement has been named under the authority of the Admiralty Board, as dictated by regulations controlling wartime succession,” Koris finished, nodding to Kal.

Kal straightened, shoulders back and posture at ease. There was no anger in him now. He looked like an admiral, strong enough to hold the Heavy Fleet on his shoulders. Tali watched him hit the button for the microphone, but he stared at the command center’s map as he spoke, watching the holographic image of the liveships. The heart of their people.

“This is Admiral Kal’Reegar vas Neema of the Heavy Fleet,” he said. “All units cease fire immediately and pull back to defend the liveships until given further orders. Repeat: stand down.” He cut the channel.

“An inspiring speech,” Koris said, “if a bit long winded.”

Kal ignored him. He looked down at Tali as she joined him and slipped her arm around his waist. She smiled at him, but he looked more dazed than anything.

“Pretty sure that’s gonna be how my mother finds out about my promotion,” he told her.

***

When they’d come of age, Ereba’s sister had wanted to them to join the Eclipse. Blood and battle had sung to her sister, but Ereba had wanted nothing more than to dance her youth away. Their mother was slowly growing into her matriarchy, and felt no need to push either of her daughters into any specific thing, so Ereba had become a dancer and her sister had become a mercenary.

Huddled in the back room of her shop, Ereba desperately regretted the decision.

There were guns all around her. To sell a product, she felt a merchant should understand it, so she knew how to handle all her wares, knew how to put them together and the various features of the different guns. When word of the Cerberus attack had come, she’d grabbed a Disciple and the new Rosenkov chestplate, then locked herself into the back storeroom. 

The Disciple was a shotgun to be envied and feared, a vicious beast of a gun. She could list seven different features that made it superior to any other shotgun on the market and knew it didn’t give her even the slightest advantage over even the worst of Cerberus’ troops. If she was lucky, the troops would kill her. If she wasn’t, they would take her alive. Everyone heard rumors of what happened when Cerberus took another race captive.

Shots echoed through the Presidium Commons, a morbid beat to the song of screams as the troops spread out, killing mercilessly without any apparent motive other than sheer bloodthirstiness. They were getting closer with every minute and Ereba bit her lip to keep from crying, one hand on the gun and the other over her swollen belly.

Cerberus troopers wore specially altered Elkross Combine armor. It was heavier than ordinary armor, which, Ereba knew from using this specific flaw to make sales, made stealth nearly impossible. It allowed her to hear the troopers now, as their heavy footsteps grew louder, thudding toward her shop. She heard them looting Citritine Armory next door and the shriek as they found the girl who’d been on shift. There was a shot and a wet thud. Ereba squeezed her eyes shut and began to pray.

***

Jane stood next to her brother, fingers loose around her SMG. She was back in light armor, which was a relief after having to wear his tank gear. EDI’s mobile platform was hacking the door to the cargo area of the lower docks without much apparent effort. 

Jane rolled her shoulders and grinned as anticipation curled through her. Garrus was immediately behind her, Charr slightly behind him. It sounded like a full fledged war on the other side of the door. 

John looked at her and saw her excitement. “You’re warped in the head,” he told her.

“And you’re not?” she asked. “I know why you wear a full helmet.”

She could almost feel his grin as he shook his head and brought up his rifle. “You ready for this?”

“Ha!” she said, and hit her cloak as soon as EDI stepped back and the doors opened on the battle for the Citadel. “Try to keep up.”

***

Jacob listened to the battles outside, rifle at the ready. Brynn sat across the room from him, monitoring Randall’s vitals. It had taken both him and Miranda to sedate Randall, and Brynn had warned him that they wouldn’t be able to keep him under for much longer without long term effects.

Jacob turned away from her to pace to the door, press his ear to it to listen. The sounds were getting closer.

“Jac-” Brynn started suddenly, but was cut off. 

Jacob spun around, bringing up his rifle, but he was too slow. Randall had one arm around Brynn’s neck, the glowing edge of his omniblade pressed under her chin. He leveled her pistol on Jacob. 

“Taylor,” Randall rasped, rage radiating off him in biotic waves. “That was a mistake.”

“Randall, just--” Jacob started, trying to find an opening. Brynn’s eyes were wide with fear, but she wasn’t panicked. He could see her searching for any chance to get away. Strong woman.

Randall snarled and pulled the trigger. The shot was overwhelming in the small room, but when Jacob’s ears stopped ringing, he realized he was unhurt. He looked over his shoulder to see where the shot had gone.

The door to the room was jammed open. A dead Cerberus centurion blocked it from closing again. 

Randall released Brynn and climbed off the bed, shaking his head to clear it. He crossed the room and got in Jacob’s face, close enough to feel the biotic bleed coming from his scars. “I’m gonna make you regret that,” Randall promised in a growl. “But first, you’re going to tell me what the fuck is going on.”

He shoved past Jacob and bent to drag the centurion into the room, allowing the door to close. The centurion had to weigh close to four hundred pounds, with his armor and bulk, but Randall just dragged him by the ankle as if he were a wet blanket.

Maybe getting between Randall and rescuing Inali hadn’t been the best idea, Jacob reflected, belatedly.

“We’re on the Citadel to rendezvous with Shepard...John and Jane. It was the only way to--” Jacob started.

“Save it,” Randall said, stripping off the centurion’s armor. He began to strap it on in practiced motions.

Jacob went to Brynn, catching her by the arms and looking her over. She nodded at him; she was fine. “Cerberus is attacking, but we’re not sure why. The others arrived about an hour ago,” she said. 

“Ah!” Randall exhaled. “Hello, beautiful,” he said, pulling the gauntlets from the dead centurion. He fitted them on and rose, turning his arms over to admire them. “Damn, haven’t had a decent pair of these in a while.” He hit the door release. 

Jacob watched him go. “That could have gone better,” he said.

“It could have gone worse,” Brynn pointed out.

***

_Lady Jane._

Jane froze, turning her head at her name. She could hear Garrus’s breath, soft and even, in her ear. He was tucked up on top of a shop, laying down cover as she marked targets for him on the field, ducking in and out of invisibility.  

Randall’s voice over her omnitool ruined that; three guardians turned towards her and began to advance. She sprinted for cover, sliding over a crashed vehicle and pressing into the side.

“Not a great time, Rand,” she said, counting footsteps. “Where are you?”

“Got tranq’d by your brother’s girlfriend,” he growled. “Cerberus took Inali.”

Jane felt her heart drop. “Dammit,” she said.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Coordinates?”

She raised her head out of cover and peppered the field with bullets, spraying the troopers with her SMG. It gave her enough distraction to throw a sticky grenade at the guardians. It hit one of their shields and clung.

She ducked back into cover, counted to three, and braced for the explosion that reverberated through the Presidium foyer. 

“Got you,” Randall said. “You’re half a floor down from me.”

“Good. Get down here and cover Garrus,” she told him. “Finish securing this floor, then continue the sweep. Garrus will fill you in.”

“Where are you going?” Garrus asked. “We got an Atlas approaching on our four.”

Jane swapped her SMG for the Black Widow, checked its clip, and stepped out of cover. She put a round through the eye of the Atlas’ pilot, dropping the man with the shot.

“To find my brother,” she said.

***

Ereba tasted blood when the explosions started. Light flooded the storeroom as the door was torn open. A woman stood silhouetted in the doorway; as Ereba’s eyes adjusted, she recognized a full helmet and tight bodysuit of a phantom agent. Light glinted off the phantom’s sword, snagged on the blood and gore that clung to the blade.

Something cracked through the air and Ereba screamed, dropping the Disciple to curl around her stomach and hide her head. There was another loud crack, then silence except for softer footsteps.

“Hey,” a man said with a voice like gravel. She looked up at a Cerberus centurion covered in biotic scarring. He hit his com and said “Jane, I got Charr’s wife.”

“You know Charr?” she asked, still uncertain as to what was going on. She felt nauseous and light headed. The phantom stared at her, prone on the floor, head twisted at a sickening angle. 

The centurion nodded. “He’s on my crew. I’m Randall Ezno.”

She recognized the name from Charr’s letters, able to place him now. In the distance, an enraged krogan bellowed. The battle cry echoed through the Presidium. _Her_ enraged krogan.

She began to laugh.

***


	16. Mistakes

Jane Shepard had been born a sniper, but didn’t fire a shot until she was thirteen and never held a rifle before she enlisted. It took her half the time of the other recruits to earn her expert marksman rankings and she’d been recruited into an elite training program for snipers shortly out of basic. That had been enough to earn the attention of several influential officers, and eventually, landed her on a special ops team sent to investigate Akuze. 

What set her apart hadn’t been talent alone-- there were far more talented snipers in the galaxy. It hadn’t been skill, either, though she honed her skills to a razor’s edge, even before Akuze. (And especially after Akuze.)

It was both, combining like crosshairs and a target. She lived in the magic moment when the world crystalized and time shattered. Bullets on the battlefield had always sung bacchanal ballads to her brother, but they were whispered threnodies to her, always revealing nests, perfect hiding spots with deadly sight lines. 

When she turned to piracy, she’d bought an M-98 Widow with the profits of her first raid and spent a year modifying it so she could shoot it without shattering the bones of her arm. It was a beautiful gun, made by and designed to be the very best. It was the type of gun gangbangers didn’t even know existed, because they were too fine, too expensive, too far beyond anything slum trash from Earth would every own. She’d first seen one after she enlisted; a veteran commander had taken a modified one out to show them in a training exercise, told them the gun was something few of them would ever be worthy of. 

The Widow had never failed her in all the years she’d owned it and if she were to pick between the Widow and any of her ships, she wouldn’t think twice. But the Black Widow was like nothing she’d ever handled, not even her beloved Widow; it was a gun equal only to the sniper that held it, an unforgiving diva-bitch that demanded perfection of its owner and punished any flaw.

Jane adjusted her aim slightly, perfectly lining up the scene unfurling in her crosshairs. The battles for the Citadel whispered distantly, swirling like breezes around her, but she knew nothing beyond the targets below. This was the crystal moment, an easy breath between ragged gasps. She had tracked them, followed along, watched silently, moving in harmony with them through the Citadel as their shadow.

John had found Miranda, found the Council, found corruption. Like a terrier with a rat, he couldn’t leave it be, couldn’t resist chasing a nobler cause. Jane had long since known this about her brother, suffered it because of love. Until now.

Jane had found her nest. Stretched out along a buttress, she held her gun like a lover against her and let time go. The moment built around her, pressure like a storm brewing, the single second like a soprano’s highest note. Time, she thought. Time, telling her when to take her shot.

She exhaled and squeezed the trigger.

***

Jack sat in what was left of Purgatory, the decomposing bodies of Cerberus stinking up the place. She was _almost_ too tired to lift her beer. Her students slept all around her, dulled to the presence of or too exhausted to care about the dead bodies around them. They’d fought hard. Battling for almost three hours without pause was enough to push her to the edges of her own stamina, but the kids had kept up. They’d earned their rest. She’d wake them as soon as she was sure she’d make it back to the Normandy without doing something stupid, like collapsing or some shit.

She opened her eyes a slit when she heard heavy, booted footsteps. There weren’t any Cerbs left, she knew that for a fact, but she started to drag on the final dregs of her power before she saw Zaeed. She let the energy go and watched him cross what had been the dance floor. He grunted a greeting and fell heavily onto the bench beside her.

She drained the last of her beer and accepted the new one from him. “How many’d you get?” she asked, wincing as her final amp fizzled. About time. She’d felt it ready to fail for the past hour. The headache was almost a relief.

“Seventy-two, including six of those phantom bitches. Woulda had another, except my goddamn Disciple jammed,” Zaeed answered, swigging from his bottle. “Bloody asari junk. You?” 

She slouched over until she was leaning against his shoulder. His skin was warm against hers; her blood sugar was probably nonexistent. “Forty-five,” she said. He barked a smug laugh, so she added: “And four of those atlases. I win.”

“Yeah, yeah. How’d the pups do?” He nudged Rodriguez with his boot. Rodriguez didn’t stir except to roll over. She was using Prangley’s stomach as a pillow. 

“Twenty-six, total,” she said with a sigh. “They’re doomed.” She couldn’t keep the pride from leaking into her voice. Twenty-six, but the students had worked together and taken them down without her help.

“They’ll get better,” he said, almost reassuring. “Or they’ll die bloody horrible deaths and it’ll haunt you until the Reapers kill us all.” He shrugged.

She thought about hitting him for that, but wasn’t sure she could spare the strength to lift her arms. “Y’know, this isn’t what I meant when I said you had to take me out if you want in my pants, old man,” she said.

“Yeah, yeah, bitch, bitch. You’re just sore I out-killed you,” he said, draping an arm around her shoulders. He stank of battle; blood, sweat, and gun oil. “Got a long way to go, buttercup, before you can keep up with the likes of me. I can give you some of the boys as a bodyguard, protect your sweet ass.”

“Bullshit. I’ll mail you back their heads if you try it, grandpa.”

He rested his cheek on her hair and grunted when she elbowed him in the side for it. Sentimental old bastard, she thought, swigging from her beer.

***

Allers stepped onto the elevator of the Normandy with Garrus, standing beside him without more than a passing smile of greeting. 

He was tired and bruised from the fight, covered in gore and spirits knew what else. He knew there was more trouble coming, too. He hadn’t heard from Jane or John since they’d split up, and Ezno had split for the Normandy as soon as the fighting had died down. Garrus thought about just staying on the Citadel longer and avoiding the confrontation that would be coming with the twins.

At least most of the crew seemed to have survived. Squads had mostly reported in to him after they’d failed to reach John, Jane, or Miranda. C-Sec was back in force, holding and clearing out the wards, so Garrus told the crew to stand by and report back to the Normandy to get some rest.

He flared his mandibles in weak response to Allers, who shifted her weight, her attention on the numbers of the elevator’s display. Garrus shifted his gorget, trying to scratch an itch on the inside of his cowl.

“You know what I wonder?” Allers said.

Garrus looked at her in surprise. He couldn’t read the tone of her voice; there was something in the inflection that the translator couldn’t catch. It attempted to translate her tone as a subvocal hum for pointing out obvious things and the cadence of sharing clandestine thoughts. 

“Lady Jane is the type who knows how to keep a secret,” Allers said, folding her arms. “Cerberus doesn’t know who she is or where she came from. The Alliance doesn’t have any relevant intel on her. The media’s been fairly obsessed with her, but no one’s been able to track down anything concrete. Even the Shadow Broker didn’t know she was John’s sister. No one has ever caught her on video or even knew what she looked like, before this. They couldn’t even really confirm she was human.” Allers paused and looked at him. “Believe me, I checked.”

Garrus shrugged. “That isn’t strange. Vigilantism 101: keep your identity a secret, ” he said. “The idea is to make it harder for people to shoot you when you’re trying to take a nap.”

Allers shook her head. “That’s not the weird part.”

The elevator stopped on the crew deck and Allers stepped off, but held her hand to block the sensor for the doors. She watched Garrus with a strange expression.

“I wonder how the helmet footage of a woman _that_ good at keeping secrets ends up with the media,” she said. “Especially footage that links her directly to Commander John Shepard, while still managing to completely clear his name,” Allers finished. She watched him a second longer, then let the doors close.

Garrus stared at the closed doors as the elevator continued down to the Hangar.

***

“How are they?” Ashley asked quietly, entering the medbay of the Normandy. She’d left to stow her gear and shower, after ensuring Mordin had everything under control. It had been a long fight to secure C-Sec, then another, longer one to escort Eve back to the Normandy.

Mordin looked up at the human, then at his two sleeping patients. Interesting; she inquired about both Eve and Thane, but attention was clearly focused on the drell. Not enough to confirm his hypothesis, but relevant data on the nature of their relationship all the same.

“Stable. Seems fight might have beneficial effect on Eve,” Mordin said, returning to his work on the medical console. “Hormone levels steady, increase in acephedone, good sign. Krogan physiology,” he explained with a shrug.

Ashley nodded and crossed the medbay to Thane’s bedside, leaning on the cot next to his. “And Thane?”

“Wounds mostly superficial. Appears to be healing slower than average of species, but expected in drell of his age,” Mordin said. “Provided sedative; rest should speed recovery.”

“You know about the Kepral’s?” she asked.

Mordin made a sound of agreement. “Advanced stages. Surprised at his combat abilities and stanima, considering.” He looked up and frowned slightly, considering the abnormality. Perhaps conclusions from examination incorrect? No, readings consistent with precedent, fit baseline data gathered in prior examinations. Simpler explanation: conditioning. Assassination career and training necessitate extreme physical and mental discipline. Pain threshold would deviate from norm, body would adapt to compensate in other ways for lack of oxygen, increased pain, loss of physical stamina. Would need to run further tests to determine specific…

“Yeah,” Ashley said, interrupting his thoughts. He looked at her, startled, then coughed, embarrassed to realize he’d been speaking aloud. “He said his training helped him overcome some of the physical symptoms. The doctors at Huerta Memorial have him on some experimental therapy.”

Mordin blinked at her and turned away from his work in curiosity. “Do you have access to more information on specific course of treatment?” he asked.

She patted down her sides, searching through her pockets until she came up with a small bottle of pills. She tossed them to him and he snagged them out of the air. He read the label.

“Ah, familiar with this approach,” Mordin said, nodding. “Still in developmental stages, but initial data suggests immediate beneficial results. Testing inconclusive on effectiveness over longer periods; may cause more rapid decline in 4 of 10 cases, possibly due to trends in rate of absorption, developed increased resistance.... Can investigate, possibly recommend additional methods. Old hanar acquaintance considered foremost expert on Kepral’s Syndrome research. Ridiculous hubris, not all undeserved. Should be able to help, if still alive.” 

Ashley was taken aback by the offer. They were in the middle of an intergalactic fight for the survival of all sentient species. It was insane to feel this type of relief because one sick drell _might_ be able to survive an incurable disease for slightly longer, not when billions of beings were dying every day. It wasn’t even her place to accept the offer-- it was Thane’s choice to pursue new treatments.

She shut her eyes and forced away the guilt. When she opened them, she met Mordin’s gaze steadily and nodded. “I can upload his medical files for you,” she offered.

Mordin blinked at her twice in surprise. “Ah!” he said, his smile sudden and pleased. “Theory correct. Previous data ambiguous. Interesting… Must consider disease and species, length of association… Alliance personnel file psych profile suggested mild xenophobia, strong trust issues, interpersonal conflict over association to Cerberus and Shepard. Strong moral code should cause considerable disapproval or disgust. Conclusion actually very unlikely based upon evidence… Hmm,” he frowned. The pieces were there; she had confirmed the relationship, no matter what the data. Obviously drawing incorrect conclusions. Demanded reevaluation of facts. “Yes,” he said, suddenly, as it all clicked into place. “Situational stressors provoking united response to similar internal and external conflicts, repetitive, unplanned, emotion-driven associations, physical symptoms of Kepral’s not in conflict with traits commonly attractive to humans. Of average child bearing age, hormones reacting to potential mate. Only obvious conclusion. Yes, would appreciate any medical files,” he said abruptly.

Ashley had paused in uploading the data from her omnitool to listen to him ramble. She stared at him, hand poised in the air over the omnitool’s input sensors. “...Okay,” she said. “What?”

“Romantic relationship with Thane,” Mordin said, turning back to his work. “Initial conclusion: unlikely. Hypothesis did not factor situational data.” Mordin shrugged. “Sexual activity normal with stress relief, romantic attachment expected in situation. Still, hope biological considerations are made?”

Ashley coughed, making a sputtering sound of disbelief. “ _What?_ ” she asked again, straightening. “What makes you think-- we’re not--”  

Mordin frowned at her. Outburst seemed sincere. Possibly wrong? No. “Have not recognized mutual attraction?” he asked, confused. He waved a hand. “Indicators all there. Very obvious now. Reasonable conclusion.”

“This is completely inappropriate and ridiculous!” Ashley said. She paused and narrowed her eyes at the salarian. “What indicators?”

“Interest in indicators, for one,” Mordin pointed out. “Consistent exchange of endearments, unconscious casual touching. Physical signals of attraction common to drell males: deviations in usual skin tone, deepening of subharmonics, increase dneed for proximity to female in presence of other males. Signals from human female: profound interest in maintaining prospective mate’s health, deviations in patterns of grooming, blush when discussing matter.” He shrugged again, shaking his head at her. “All very simple. Will send information regarding such liaisons, biological considerations, positions comfortable to both species, basic common erogenous zones.”

Ashley stared at him, shocked into silence. She _was_ blushing. She hadn’t blushed since her father had tried to have ‘The Talk’ with her. This was somehow much worse. She looked at Thane to make sure he was still asleep. Thank God.

Mordin reached up into a cabinet and removed a tube of ointment and a small vial of pills. “Here, ointment will help with rash. Take pill shortly before sexual encounter, will decrease intensity of hallucinogenic side effects. Have more if you need it.”

Ashley hesitated. She glanced at Thane’s sleeping form again, then snatched the offered medications. “Thank you, doctor,” she said, stiffly. “I...” She shifted her weight, torn between running away and salvaging whatever was left of her dignity. “Thanks. Just… don’t mention it to him, okay? I’ll… stop by to see how he is later.”

Mordin nodded and watched as she left. Hormones caused unusual and complicated reactions in all species, he reflected. Much simpler to fight incurable disease.

“That wasn’t nice,” Eve scolded softly, from her cot.

“Not meant to be nice. Meant to be educational,” he said, turning back to her. “Would have ended up treating both eventually; preventative medicine much easier.”

“And you enjoyed watching her sputter,” Eve said.

“Ridiculous accusation! Upmost paragon of professionalism. Would never dream of mockery,” he said, puffing up in feigned offense, but she chuckled anyway. He crossed the medbay to check her vitals. “Now, how are you feeling?”

***

“ _Shepard!_ ”

John turned away from the weapons console in the hangar, but kept his grip on the Phalanx he’d been cleaning, hiding it behind his back casually. Randall stormed toward him, twin biotic lashes trailing from his wrists, scars casting a fiery glow across his features. John had stared down less intimidating krogan. He got into John’s face, snarling.

“Talk. Fast,” Randall growled. 

  “I don’t answer to you,” John said and shifted his grip on the Phalanx. Four seconds to get the gun in front of him, two to pull the trigger. It would take six seconds to put a bullet through the vulnerable spot between the armor in Ezno’s side. Ten if he went for a headshot. Cortez had his gun on Randall and Vega was trying to flank them. John had no doubt Ezno was aware of it. Adrenaline surged through John and everything suddenly slowed to a complete stop.

He ducked.

Something heavy flew over his head, close enough to brush his hair. Jane’s helmet crashed to the floor in the middle of the bay as time came back in a rush.

“No,” she said, prowling towards them. “But you _damn well_ better answer _me._ ”

John exhaled heavily. “Could you get your thug to back off?” he asked, flicking his gaze to Ezno.

Jane narrowed her eyes. “You first,” she said.

John nodded to Cortez, who signaled to Vega. Jane’s gaze never left her brother’s, but she made no move until Cortez dropped his gun and Vega came out from between the storage crates.

She nodded slightly. Randall shifted his weight, enough that the whips curled and lifted on the air, throwing off small sparks, but he immediately backed off. The elevator began to hum, descending.

“Who made the decision?” Jane asked.

John shook his head. “It was the right choice,” he said.

“It wasn’t _yours_ to make,” she snarled, lifting her chin. She was taller than her first mate, tall enough to stand eye to eye with her brother and let him see the rage in her. “My people, _my_ call. Was it you or your Cerberus bitch?” she asked again, biting off every word.

“Me,” he said. Miranda and Garrus stepped off the elevator. Miranda immediately trained her gun on Jane. He signaled her to stand down. 

Randall growled and started toward Miranda. Garrus unslung his rifle, but didn’t point it at anyone, watching Randall but making no move to stop him. Yet.

“ _Stand down,_ ” Jane snapped, without looking away from John. 

Randall froze, made a wordless sound of fury, and stalked deeper into the hangar, disappearing into the shadows behind the Hammerhead. 

“You had no right,” Jane said. “None! You know it was my call to make.”

“Would you have made a different one?” he asked, unmoved by her anger. “We can’t afford the time or the resources to track down one woman, especially when Cerberus is clearly using her to bait a trap. We had vastly more important, time sensitive priorities.”

“I would have done the same damn thing,” she said, shocking him into stepping back. “That still doesn’t give you the right to decide! You should have trusted my judgement in dealing with _my_ crew. You should have trusted me!”

A bitter laugh escaped him before he could bite it back. “Because your judgement has been so sound lately,” he said, rolling his eyes. 

There was a soft, menacing subvocal hum from Garrus, but Jane went completely still. Her eyes were sharp, fixed on her brother. “That’s what this is?” she asked, voice soft. 

“What else should it be about?” he asked, throwing up his arms in frustration. He scrubbed a hand over his head and pointed at her with his Phalanx, completely forgetting the gun was in his hand. “You committed _genocide,_ Jane!”

“I destroyed a relay to stop the Reapers!” she shouted back, ignoring the weapon. “If there had been any other choice, believe me, I would have taken it, but it was that or _this_ , three months earlier. I had no other option!”

“We’ll never know, will we?” he asked. “You’ve been a criminal for years, you attacked Cerberus when you knew I was working for them, and now you’re a mass murderer. You think I should _trust_ your judgement? I barely know you anymore!”

The silence in the hangar echoed through the ship. No one moved. The twins stared at each other, each unwilling to give.

“EDI,” Jane finally said, not dropping her gaze.

“Yes, Lady Jane?” EDI’s voice seemed jarring, too pleasant for the atmosphere of the hangar.

“Please put a call through to Admiral Hackett. Authority code Alpha-Epsilon-Delta-Niner. Priority code blue,” Jane said.

“I’m afraid I cannot do that without proper authorization,” EDI said.

“Go ahead and-” John started.

“Emergency override sequence: Alpha-four-one-eight-one-eight-tango-aught,” Jane interrupted. “Code word: enlightenment. You’re authorized. Do it.”

“Override accepted. Would you like me to patch him through to the Hangar?” EDI asked. 

“How--” John started.

“No, the communications room,” Jane said. She turned on her heel and headed for the elevator. 

Garrus stepped to the side and stood in her way. When she narrowed her eyes at him, he jerked his chin at the back of the hangar bay, toward where Randall had disappeared. Jane pressed her fingertips to her forehead and shut her eyes for a second.

“Randall,” she said, raising her voice so it would carry. “Go find us another ship. We need to be ready to move as soon as I figure out where they’re holding Inali. Cerberus has to have something docked we can use. Send me the docking info when you’re done.”

“Captain?” 

“Don’t kill anyone when you take it,” she said. She quirked an eyebrow at Garrus, who nodded slightly and stepped aside.

***


	17. History

“Hackett out.”

Brother and sister saluted in unison as the projected image of the admiral faded from view. They dropped the salute and stood in silence, staring at the empty space as the echoes of the revelations reverberated through the room, all around them.

***

Jane sat tucked in the corner of the Main Battery of the Normandy, her back against the main gun. She sat with her legs bent up and arm braced across them, her omnitool open. It looked like she was downloading something, but Garrus was at the wrong angle to catch all the details. He watched as she laid her head back against the gun and shut her eyes, exhaling heavily.

He knew she heard his approach; he didn’t try to soften his footsteps. She didn’t move or shift when he sank down to sit beside her. He leaned against the gun and considered the side of her face. Still and quiet, it was much harder to see the resemblance to her brother. Her skin was smooth, unmarred by the scars that still subtly marked John’s skin. With her eyes closed, she looked younger than he knew she was, younger than she looked usually. She didn’t look like a force that could take on Reapers, Commander Shepard, and Cerberus without pause. She looked like a young, beautiful, tired human woman.

“So,” he said. “Seen any good vids lately?”

Jane opened her eyes to look at him sidelong. When he met her gaze, he waggled the plates above his eyes, mimicking a human movement, and she laughed. Some of the tension drained out of her shoulders. 

“Does that line ever work for you?” she asked, smile still playing on her lips.

“You know what they say,” he said. “Practice makes perfect. But ah… no. Not really.” He shrugged, philosophical about his previous failures. They let the minutes pass as only snipers could, sitting in peace.

She stirred, finally. “You can ask,” she said. He didn’t pretend to misunderstand.

“Are you a Spectre?” he asked.

 “No,” she said. “Not really.”

***

Jane stared at the empty space left by Hackett. Her rage left her in a rush, leaving only exhaustion. 

“I don’t work for the Council,” she explained to John, quietly. “I’m not even sure I really work for the Alliance. Most people don’t realize the Agency is still in existence, if they’ve even heard of it at all.”

“Which agency?” John asked, a perfect mirror of her, neither of them yet able to make the first move.

***

“It was called the CIA-- Central Intelligence Agency,” Jane said. “It was considered an independent civilian agency. Used to be a branch of national security for the United States of America, overseen by their executive office, and focused primarily on intelligence gathering on foreign powers.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” Garrus said, thinking it over. “But there are rumors the Hierarchy has something similar. Like the salarian STG?”

“Sort of,” she said, with a shrug. “It was ‘officially’ consolidated into the Alliance a few decades back.”

***

  “How big is it?” John asked.

Jane shifted her weight, finally breaking the tableau. She passed a hand over her eyes, in thought, in stress, indecisive. Eventually, she leaned against the communications console to face him and made careful study of her boots. 

“I have no idea,” she said. “At least two people are involved-- Hackett’s my handler and I’m the only agent I know about.” She cut him off before he could ask his next question. “I would have found out by now, if there were others. I’m pretty sure funding comes from Alliance discretionary accounts. There’s no way it actually cost them eight million dollars to build a hammer that any species can use.” 

John rolled his shoulder out, stretching, still avoiding her gaze. “When did you start?” His voice was carefully free of any inflection.

***

“After I wrote the doctrine,” Jane said, looking up as she drew upon her memories. “Initially, it wasn’t supposed to be any sort thesis or strategic theory. It was just the post-op debrief of Akuze. The rest of it was a condition of my discharge. Hackett arranged for an honorable discharged without an official hearing and in return, I finished the thesis and provided them with strategies for theoretical situations.”

“It’s a good read,” Garrus told her. She looked at him in surprise and he flicked his mandibles in dismissal, avoiding her gaze out of embarrassment. “Ahh… that is, most sharpshooting divisions require recruits to study it.”

Jane dropped her gaze and smiled at her boots, lifting the toes off the ground. “That’s a pretty big compliment, coming from the Hierarchy,” she said.

“You have no idea. Of course, we also study the rachni ‘strategies’ of attack, so…” Garrus trailed off with a shrug.

***

“The way Hackett explained it to me, either I became an ‘asset’ for the Alliance, or they’d find a way to… neutralize me,” Jane said, bracing her arms on the top edge of the communications console. “The doctrine was just a little too comprehensive. A little too threatening, when they considered the woman who wrote it no longer had a strong connection to the Alliance and had some serious PTSD from a situation they’d ultimately put her in. Even if the Alliance hadn’t recruited me back, they were concerned about another power turning me against them.” 

“You’ve always been brilliant,” John said, softly. 

She looked up and met his gaze for the first time, smiling slightly. It didn’t reach her eyes, but it eased some of the tension in both of them. “Runs in the family, I’m told,” she said. 

“Miranda says that the Illusive Man has a billion credit bounty on any information that leads to him figuring out who our parents were,” John said, with a grin.

“Hell,” she said, raising both eyebrows. “If I’d know that, maybe I wouldn’t have completely erased all of those files.”

“I knew that was you,” John said, pointing at her in accusation. “That virus was a little too precisely destructive. I had to listen to Anderson complain about it for _weeks_.”

She echoed his grin and turned her palms up in a ‘what can you do’ gesture. “Lesson learned.”

***

“Who knows about this?” Garrus asked, the subvocal tones in his voice humming with consideration.

“Me,” Jane said. “John, now. Hackett. You. Pella’s probably figured some of it out.” She dialed up something on her omnitool, typed in a few things, and minimized the interface again. “She’s been my pilot for too long not to suspect anything.”

“Why didn’t you tell him before?” He asked it before he could stop himself. It was an intensely private question, he realized belatedly, and he looked at her, trying to figure out how to take it back. “That was out of line. You don’t--”

She sighed and leaned against him, not moving so much as tilting over so her weight rested against his side. He looked down at the top of her head in surprise. 

“Because the galaxy requires Commander Shepard to do the things no one else can do, but John can’t do everything the galaxy requires of Commander Shepard,” she said, pulling his arm from between them and draping it across her shoulders. 

“I don’t, ah,” Garrus was still trying to recover from the sudden, sweet scent of her hair, the way she felt tucked under his arm. It made her statement hard to follow. “Understand,” he finished.

***

“Because the galaxy sees you as Commander John Shepard, Hero of the Skyllian Blitz, Savior of the Citadel, First Human Spectre, Paragon of all Humanity,” Jane said, smiling at John, a true smile that lit up her eyes with pride. “You’re the soldier who does the impossible, the man they call when there’s no other option, someone who never learned what the words defeat and failure meant. Little kids dream of growing up to be you. There’s even an action figure.”

John frowned. “There is?”

“I had one bonded to the dash of the last _Nedas._ I’ll track one down for you,” she said, waving a hand. 

“I’m not--,” he started.

“You are,” she interrupted softly, but her tone brooked no argument. “You might not have been that important when Hackett first recruited me for this, but even you know everyone believes you’re our only chance at stopping the Reapers. You know your reputation, even if you don’t want to admit you’ve earned it.”

“I still don’t understand what that has to do with your being a covert agent for the Alliance,” John said.

***

“Did John tell you anything about our childhood?” Jane asked.

Garrus shook his head. “Not really. I didn’t even know he had a sister. You grew up on Earth?”

She nodded, tracing the line of a buckle on his thigh. He couldn’t feel the touch through his armor, but she seemed absorbed by the clip. “We were orphaned and grew up in… it’s not really important where. It was a bad place, especially for a pair of kids.”

“Is it like the vids you see of Earth’s cities?” Garrus asked, trying to imagine it. Not that he’d seen any recent vids, but maybe it’d provide some context.

She shook her head, hair snagging on the edges of his breastplate. He reached up to carefully try and detach the strands. “A little, but usually they romanticize it. It was brutal. We were lucky enough to be born without a disease or an addiction, but we didn’t have family to give us a gang affiliation and the orphanage was always in danger of having to shut down. Sleeping there was always a risk-- it was hard to get decent humans to volunteer at the shelters. Most of the volunteers were predators of some sort.”

“How can your government allow that?” Garrus asked, disgusted by the implications.

 “And there isn’t any poverty on Palaven?” Jane asked, her tone pointed. She rapped her knuckles against his thigh, shaking her head. “Anything short of murder was considered a waste of resources to investigate. Police presence was rare and they usually wore riot gear if they were forced to show up.” She shrugged again, sighed heavily. “If you wanted to survive, you left. Leaving cost credits, and if you wanted money, you could deal drugs, turn tricks, or join a gang-- and the first two options meant dealing with the gangs, anyway. It was harder on a girl, growing up like that. For a boy, initiation into a gang was simple-- they call it ‘jumping-in.’ The entire crew beats on him for a while, he does something to prove his loyalty, and bam, gang for life. They give you some protection, a way to make some money.”

“It’s barbaric,” Garrus said, subvocal anger in his voice.

“And this is coming from Omega’s Archangel,” Jane said, smile in her voice. “Earth should be honored.”

Garrus cleared his throat and looked away. “How was it worse for females?”

“Girls weren’t jumped in. Usually, they just took turns with you, until you’d fucked your way into the gang.” The way she said it, it sounded like she was explaining how to buy groceries. Garrus felt the subvocal growl in his chest, but couldn’t stop it. “Rape was a pretty common fear, for both of us, in different ways. Until John got his growth spurt and then... John wouldn’t sleep when I slept. He always found a reason to stay awake. I woke up a couple of times to find him fighting some predator or another. He’s a mean son-of-a-bitch when it comes to close-quarters combat.”

Garrus thought about the last time he’d trained with John. The sparring match had gone fourteen rounds before they’d called it a draw, but if it had gone fifteen, Garrus knew he’d have lost. “He’s not bad,” he agreed. Jane snorted a laugh.

“He joined the Tenth Street Reds, the local gang in power, before me.” She sat up, turning to face him. He let her go, watching as she crossed her legs over each other in some complicated, compact position. “They wouldn’t let him extend his protection to me, but they wanted me in the gang, too. When they suggested I ‘join,’ John agreed, but bargained with them that I was jumped in like a man.” 

“That must have taken some persuasion,” Garrus observed, frowning in thought. Spirits knew, John was persuasive, but it didn’t seem like the sort of situation talking could fix.

“He fought the entire gang to win my right to it-- almost immediately after he’d fought them to join himself,” she said. “It was pretty to watch. The head of the gang ended up dead and I was allowed to fight for the chance to join. After that, we had to prove our loyalty.”

***

“I remember,” John said, looking up to the ceiling of the room. “They wanted us to kill two of the King Street Bluebloods and bring back their bandanas. What’d they call it… proving colors?”

Jane nodded. “You refused. Even after all that, you couldn’t kill a rival gang member just to make our lives better. You told Reaver you weren’t a monster.”

“And you disappeared for two days, then came back with both bandanas,” John said, looking at her with a frown. “Word on the street was the Shepard Twins killed the two baddest lieutenants of the KSB.”

“You were right,” she said, and this time, she avoided his gaze. “You’re not a monster. But there are times when what needs to be done… Some things have to be done and they require a monster.”

***

Jane looked Garrus in the eye, unflinching. “The galaxy needs my brother to be their paragon of hope. They need Commander Shepard, Hero, Idol, and Icon. But the deadlier the weapon, the more often you reach for it when faced with a threat. They needed him to do things that would destroy him and his legend, things that he couldn’t or wouldn’t do.”

“So they got you to do them instead,” Garrus said.

“No,” she said. “I _volunteered_ to do them. John thinks the galaxy would be a great place, if only we could all just listen to each other and work together, but I know better than that. Sometimes, the only way to be heard is to kill anyone who might make more noise. I took the missions that could have been press disasters or heroic triumphs, and when they went sour, Lady Jane was the monster they blamed. When they went the right way, John’s legend grew.”

***

John made a sound of disgust. “Don’t try and tell me you did it for me!” he said. “You chose this life!”

“Yes,” she said, evenly, unfazed by his outburst. “I did. _I_ chose it, because I believe in it. I agree with Hackett-- the galaxy needs a savior, and it just so happens, you fit the mold. But you rule through love _and_ fear, John, you need a sword as much as you need a shield. Someone had to investigate the rachni when they popped up again, someone had to pick up slack while you were playing house with Cerberus Barbie, someone had to rescue a missing scientist and deal with the consequences of her research when it all went bad and a relay ended up killing most of a species.” 

Jane straightened, stood in front of John with her shoulders back. She didn’t raise her voice, but it was cold, hard, and as unforgiving as the look in her eyes. “You couldn’t do it-- but you wouldn’t have survived Akuze, either. You couldn’t have retreated and you couldn’t have used your squadmates as bait and cover, the way I did. But I wouldn’t have survived the Blitz, because I would have sent everyone there to their deaths; I don’t know how to make people believe they’re more than what they are. You’re a paragon of virtue, but not everyone responds to charm. Sometimes you need to fight the renegades, and to do that, you have to _think_ like them. You don’t. I do.”

They stared at each other, silent again, history pressing down on them both. Finally, John shut his eyes. 

“I never wanted any of that for you,” he said. “You shouldn’t have to do things like this. I wanted to protect you from it.”

Jane took the step forward and wrapped her arms around him. “Don’t be stupid,” she said, voice warm. “You know exactly why I have to do things like this. It’s the same reason I killed those Bluebloods. It doesn’t destroy me like it would you, and no one but us could get it done.”

John huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he hugged her close. “You should have told me.”

“Why?” she asked. “So you could agonize over it? I’m suited to this sort of thing. I like being Lady Jane, and I still get to be Shepard when I feel like it.”

***

“You leaked the footage to clear his name,” Garrus said, understanding dawning. 

“Actually, Inali did,” Jane said. “He was never supposed to be dragged into it.”

***

“What now?” John asked, releasing her when she stepped back.

“Now, we track down Inali, broker peace between the Council Races so we can build an army, and defeat the Reapers,” she said.

John thought it over, then nodded. “We need to get out to the Fleet, as well, and save the geth.”

“Right, forgot about that,” she said.

“Probably need to reverse the genophage and complete the Crucible, too” he added.

“All in time to save Earth,” Jane said. She rolled her neck and bounced once on the balls of her feet. “No problem.”

***


	18. Maps

Brynn sat on a bench outside the Normandy’s docking bay, checking her messages. The network had been brought back online a short time ago, and Hackett had offered to shelter the families of her scientists in return for help on the Crucible project. It was easily the best case solution in Brynn’s mind; they would have helped for free, but this saved her the headaches of trying to find a safer place for the civilians. As she worked, she paid only distant attention to her surroundings. Jacob was helping coordinate the Citadel clean up, a few meters away and the sounds of the survivors, C-Sec, and mercs working together melded into an ambient murmur, allowing her to focus on the task at hand.

She glanced up to ask if Jacob had heard from one of her chief assistants, but stopped when she saw Randall Ezno stalk out of a nearby airlock. Even from the distance, she could see the rage that radiated off the man with every tightly controlled movement. Jacob followed her gaze and started toward Ezno, hands out in a placating gesture.

Brynn didn’t have much combat training, but it didn’t take an expert to see that Randall was very, very good when it came to violence. He didn’t telegraph his hit-- one moment Jacob was approaching and the next he was flat on the ground with Randall standing over him, shimmering in biotic fury. Biotic whips unfurled from his gauntlets.

Brynn usually carried a salarian prototype Scorpion sidearm. Compact, it had enough punch to stagger a krogan. While it lacked the range of most guns and had horrible recoil, she was quite adept with it. She trained twice a day with it, whenever possible, and could draw and fire it faster than any other handgun she’d tried. Messages forgotten, she trained it on Randall.

“I wouldn’t,” she advised, pitching her voice to carry.

Randall looked up at her and narrowed his eyes at her gun, clenching his fists before relaxing them again. “You think you can kill me before I get to you?” he called. The whips drifted in response to his slight movements, a silent, unmistakable threat.

“Yes, I will,” she said. “You’re very well trained. I read your dossier-- even if your handler downplayed your abilities, you have an effective range of 10 meters with those lashes. I conservatively estimate the distance between us sufficient to allow me to fire twice before your attack reached me. All of your other biotic and tech abilities require at least a second to trigger. I assure you, that is twice as long as I will need.”

“Not looking to hurt _you,_ ” Randall growled. One of the lashes twitched toward Jacob’s still form.

“Please,” Brynn said, “stop that, or I will be forced to fire on you. Consider this.” She shifted her wrist slightly, just enough show the display of her omnitool. “Any anger you may feel toward Cerberus, I feel at least as passionately. It was my research that created the foundation of the experiments run on your handler and the very idea of it turns my stomach. They have killed off my coworkers and friends, all of them brilliant minds who could have helped us now. I would very much like to destroy the organization for that alone. I am also the best chance Inali has at a cure-- one I have already begun working on, while you were unconscious.”

If she had any sympathy left in her, if the fight against Cerberus had spared her any human warmth, she would have felt for the poor man, for the hope that sprang to life, then died brutally in his eyes. But she had nothing for him; her rebellion against Cerberus had stripped away everything save cold survival.

“You can cure her?” he asked.

“Possibly. But I long ago keyed all of my research with a deadman’s switch. Should my vitals fail, it will result in a complete wipe of all my data, including any backups or copies. If you make a move against Jacob, I will trigger it same as if you make a move against me, and with me, any hope for Inali will die,” she said. “Please consider it carefully. I will not hesitate to put you down like a mad dog. I will allow your handler to die in pain and I will not regret either.”

He stared at her a minute more, his every muscle tensed to attack. It was no bluff; Brynn had no more energy left for games or strategy. What she had told him was simple truth. Her voice hadn’t wavered, her eyes were steady. There was no room in the galaxy for weakness, not anymore. She would survive and her people would survive, no matter the cost. Her gun did not waver until his lashes recoiled into the gauntlets and his shoulders relaxed.

“You can cure her?” he asked again.

She lowered her gun, but kept it at her side, wary. “As I said, it may be possible. I uploaded much of the relevant data from your omnitool while you were out. You should be able to review it. I would welcome any additional data or input you might have.”

He nodded shortly and brushed past her toward the Normandy without another word.

“Damn,” Jacob said from the ground, finally lifting his head. When he shifted, she saw the faint glow he’d been gathering and hiding under his body, an attack ready to be deployed. He let the energy go. “Remind me not to piss you off.”

***

Ashley woke up slowly. Post-battle fatigue always made her sleep too deeply; or maybe it was just an effect of being back on the Normandy. For all their history, she knew there was no where safer than Shepard’s ship. Either way, she felt like she’d slept for days when she finally clawed her way back to consciousness. It took her a moment to realize something had woken her. She started to reach for her pistol, even as she scanned the unfamiliar room.

“It is just me,” Thane said, from the doorway.

She was in Life Support. With the Normandy full almost to bursting, she’d bedded down in the warm, dry room after checking in with Mordin. It was too much to try and sleep in the crew quarters; apparently word of her and Shepard’s fight on Horizon had spread. His crew had always been fanatically loyal. She’d scoured the crew deck for a quieter, isolated place to grab a quick nap. She remembered curling up on the floor in the corner of Life Support, but not falling asleep.

Thane crossed the room, dialing something into a panel in the wall. It slid open to reveal a case of guns. He checked them over with practiced, easy movements. Too easy, when she knew he should still be in pain from the Cerberus attack.

“Shouldn’t you be in the medbay?” she asked, sitting up and pushing her hair out of her eyes. Her back ached; she’d have to steal a bedroll if she was going to continue bunking on the floor.

“Dr. Solus granted me temporary reprieve,” he said, stowing the guns again. “I am confined to this level of the ship and under orders not to attempt anything too strenuous.”

“How do you feel?” she asked. He came to sit beside her, folding himself onto the ground with suspicious grace.

“I do not feel much at all,” he admitted, reaching out to touch her hair. He fingered the strand in a focused way, then glanced at her and dropped his hand, looking guilty. “The doctor forced a painkiller on me. Apologies.”

“You’ve never been forced to do anything,” Ashley pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

“Nevertheless,” he conceded, “I am not entirely in control of my whims. I will strive to show more discipline.”

She wasn’t sure what to say to that, so she looked around the room instead. “What’s with the gun stash?” she asked.

“These were my quarters, during Shepard’s mission through the Omega-4 relay. It is a good place for me; quiet, warm, dry.” He leaned back against the wall, stretching his legs out in front of them. He shut his eyes. “I appreciated the symmetry of it: a dying drell assassin living in ‘Life Support.’ It does not explain why you would choose to nap here.”

“Crew quarters were full,” she said, shrugging. Their shoulders brushed. “And I’m not exactly welcome on this ship. Shepard and I have… a rocky history.”

“You regret it?” Thane asked, without opening his eyes. His voice was carefully neutral.

“I… I regret some of the things I said to him,” she admitted with a sigh. “I was furious when I found out he’d started working with Cerberus and didn’t even bother to contact me to tell me he was alive.” 

Thane moved slightly, so they touched, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, thigh to thigh. She leaned into him, not wanting to think about why it felt comforting to do so. 

“It was just so... _wrong_ ,” she said. “Shepard’s one of the good guys, one of the heroes, and he was just there… working for Cerberus, and he didn’t even try to explain. I was angry for a long time.”

“Do you love him?” 

The question felt like it came out of nowhere. Ashley jerked upright and twisted to look at the drell. “What?”

“Do you love him?” Thane repeated, opening his eyes to meet hers. 

She stared at him. She felt her cheeks flame and looked away. “No. I might have, once, but… there’s too much between us now.”

Thane made a sound her translator didn’t pick up and shut his eyes again. “He has asked me to stay,” he said.

“What?” Ashley felt like a broken record. The entire conversation felt unreal.

“Shepard,” Thane clarified. “Dr. Solus is attempting to create a cure for the genophage, but it is slow work. When we were on Tuchanka, I joined Shepard and Dr. Solus on a mission to track down a rogue salarian scientist who was attempting to do the same thing. He was very close to a cure, but the data was destroyed.”

“So why do you need to stay?” Ashley asked.

Thane opened his eyes again. “While they debated the issue, I read most of the data.”

“You can recreate the research,” she said, realizing what he meant.

He felt the memory unfurl inside of his mind, until it blocked out everything else. “It is warm and dry. Tuchanka’s sun is unforgiving; Shepard is red with sunburn. I feel healthier than I have in years, despite the long battle into this compound. The air is heavy and stinks of blood. To my left, Shepard and the salarians debate the ethics of what has been done. Their voices are rapid, quick, but I am not bound by their morals. The information on the screens is valuable. Dangerous. It will cure the krogan. I think about holding Kolyat in my arms for the first time. How I felt swelled with pride. Krogan do not have many chances to feel like that. It was a crime against nature to shackle their species. I am not sure what to do with the data, but it should not be destroyed. I read. Test one, control group A…”

The memory faded away. He exhaled and looked up at her. “It will be a worthwhile use of my remaining time.”

She frowned and looked away, as she often did, when he mentioned his impending demise. He reached out and stroked his hand over her hair again, tempted by the smooth, silken glide of it across his palm and through his fingers, the texture so unlike any he’d felt before. She didn’t object to the touch. He allowed himself to get lost in the moment that formed around them, knowing it would be one to comfort him on his deathbed. Her hair smelled of flowers and clung to the pads of his fingertips; she was a beautiful woman. 

“Shepard might not want me to stay,” she said. She kept her voice even, as if making a simple observation, instead of stating something infinitely more complex. They had not talked about staying together, preferring instead to mold circumstances to suit a continued partnership.

“Shepard is not a fool,” he said. “He will want your help in this.”

“And if he doesn’t?” she asked.

Thane shrugged. “ _I_ am not a fool, _siha_.”

***

Randall didn’t look up when he heard footsteps approach. He continued to pound his fists into the bag that hung in the Normandy’s shuttle bay. The faux-leather of the bag was streaked with blood, every smear testament to his frustrated rage. The pain focused him, kept him from feeling the seconds that ticked by, each one another needle stabbing into Inali.

“Randall,” Jane said.

“Lady Jane,” he ground out. “You finished catching up on old times with your brother?”

Jane leaned against a stack of crates in front of him, crossing her ankles. “More or less,” she agreed. “I can come back later if this is a bad time.”

He spun on her, fists dripping blood onto the floor. “What the _hell?_ ” he snarled. “We’re wasting time! I lost two damn _days_. Inali’s being tortured because--”

“Because we have no options,” Jane said, cutting him off. “Miranda said you were raging about like an idiot after Kai Leng escaped, trying to torture information out of low level Cerberus operatives. They made the right call.”

A biotic whip snapped out, arcing toward her. She caught it around her forearm, but didn’t wince as it bit into her. Instead, she wrapped her fingers around the cord and pulled hard. It caught him off guard and he stumbled forward, closer to her.

“You’re one of the best damn recovery agents Cerberus had,” Jane said, voice low. “But you’re acting like a moron, down here sulking because we put the welfare of the galaxy before your girlfriend. We don’t know where she is, we don’t know how to find her, but we _know_ she’s bait for a trap. It was the right call.”

“We have to help her!” he roared.

Jane was unmoved by his fury. “So _help her._ This isn’t the Barn. We don’t know where to start. We can’t just rip through labs until we find the right one. This is a _recovery._ This was your job. You said you were the best at it, when I found you. Prove it. You tell _me_ where she is.”

He blinked at her, finally releasing the whip. He closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose, releasing the energy he’d gathered for an attack. Jane was right. He was acting like a damn recruit and he couldn’t get his head clear enough to actually be of use. He needed to focus.

“When I find her, we go after her,” he said, opening his eyes. “No excuses, we go immediately.”

“I swear, you find us a target, and we’ll hit it with everything we’ve got,” Jane promised.

He’d have to get in touch with that volus again. Needed to access the maps he’d stored away. Find an updated dossier on Leng. Put out word that he was hunting for her, rattle some snitches to see what came out. It would take some time, but if he could…

“That AI,” he said. “EDI. Cerberus made her.”

“That is correct,” EDI said, her voice coming out of the speakers. “But I have no knowledge of Dr. Renata’s whereabouts.”

He opened his eyes and looked up at the speaker. “Doesn’t matter,” he said. He looked at Jane. “I need her help and access to an intragalactic communications array.”

“Done,” Jane said. 

Randall turned away and went to work.

***

“This is Diana Allers for Battlespace: good night and stay strong.”

It was silent for a few seconds while Diana waited for the disconnect signal, then she sighed and pulled her hair over her shoulders, shaking her head. “You can come in, you know. The whole lurking in the shadows thing works better if you have shadows to lurk in.”

Jane straightened from where she’d been watching in the doorway, walking into the reporter’s makeshift studio. She looked around curiously, taking in the equipment, the pictures and pieces of stories bonded to the wall, the hastily scribbled notes on multiple datapads. Diana watched her as she went through her post-show routines.

“Why bother?” Jane asked, picking up a silencer Diana was using as a paper weight. “Are there really enough viewers left to justify all this?”

Her tone wasn’t combative, Diana noted, which was interesting, because everything else about the woman screamed that she was looking for a fight. No, Allers corrected herself. She was looking for a fight she could win.

“Last report had eighty-four colonies and seventy-two worlds picking up the broadcast,” Diana said. “I get mail from the front lines, sidelines, and everywhere else, telling me they trade recordings of the show in places that can’t get it. Going rate is two issues of Fornax for a full length recording with audio.” Diana grinned. “That’s pretty good when you realize clips are going six sinks for one issue.”

Jane leaned against her desk, a smile softening her features slightly. “That is impressive,” she said. 

Mocking or not, Diana decided to take it as a compliment. “You’d be surprised,” she said. “I’m probably one of the best sources of information left. Soldiers write me all sorts of things. My intel is on par with most of the Alliance's, regarding the latest battles won and lost, troop movements, and patterns of attack.”

“Alliance regs state that any sensitive information provided to noncombatants in a time of war is an act of treason,” Jane said, eyes narrowed. 

“Of course,” Diana agreed. “But the mail is addressed from different worlds, written by different species, signed by different ranks. They don’t have to tell me that they lost a battle to make it clear that they just did… or that they’ve won one. It’s just a matter of piecing things together.” Diana raised her eyebrows and gestured at the room. “That’s kind of my job.”

“I’ll give you that,” Jane said, shaking her head slightly. “You really have that type of intel?”

Diana crossed the room and rifled through the datapads on the desk Jane leaned against. “Here,” she said, pulling one out of the pile. It was labeled _The Shepard Tribunal_. She handed it to Jane. “These were the stories I was researching while I covered your brother’s trial.”

“The trial wasn’t enough?” Jane asked.

“Are you kidding? Your brother’s trial could have been covered by a baby hanar. I think it was, actually,” she added, thinking it over. “Omega News Six has some odd journalists. The Shepard Trial was nothing. Everything about it was right there, on a silver platter. I had six or seven other stories I was investigating.”

“‘Gambling Addiction Causing Security Risk in Alliance Ranks?’” Jane quoted, reading the top note.

Diana shrugged. “That one was to keep Vega from reneging on our bets for interviews. Keep reading.”

Jane scanned the topics. There was an investigation into corruption in the Hanar embassy, embezzlement and black market connections with the Heirarchy’s supply chain, several detailed profiles on high level officers in almost every major military force, an outline of the attack on Omega that removed Aria from power, and…

Jane pulled up the file marked ‘Reapers.’ Five minutes later, she looked up.

“Do you have more like this?” she asked.

Diana smiled. “I have a complete timeline of known attacks, including a few I just added after interviewing Javik.”

“He spoke to you?” Jane asked.

“Everyone speaks to me,” Diana said. “But it did take a while.”

“What else do you have?”

“Do you think you could give me access to the map in the CIC for a few minutes?” Diana asked. “I can show you here, but I’ve been meaning to ask Shepard for permission anyway and it would kill two birds with one stone…”

***

The galaxy uncurled and stretched before them, like a whore lazy from a long day’s work, made vulgar by the overlay of lights and colors.

“This is a population density map, dated 2183,” Diana explained to Jane, who leaned on the railing to the side of Traynor. Traynor was watching with professional interest as Diana manipulated the map. “The first modern Reaper related incident appears to have been the attack on the Citadel in 2183. We then had a few seemingly related incidents reported. According to your brother’s testimony, known points of entry to the galaxy are here and here. If we factor in the Alpha Relay and the Bahak system incident, we arrive here.”

The map had shifted, another veil of information falling over it. There was no discernible pattern that Jane could see, but she searched for one anyway.

“Overlay locations of mass relays,” Miranda said from behind them. Jane twisted to look at her, but the other woman dropped her gaze to the map. Traynor glanced at Diana, who nodded.

The Relays lit up the map. Miranda stopped beside Traynor, considering the map. “There doesn’t appear to be a connection,” she said.

“Not yet,” Diana agreed. “But we’re not at the good part. Let’s fast forward a bit to the first wave of the war. The Reapers attacked the Vular system first, then spread to Earth and they’re now focusing on Palaven and the Heirarchy. Vular is completely wiped out, but look at the patterns of attack on Earth and Palaven.”

The planets bloomed before them. The population density was marked by luminescence, and some cities were almost impossible to look directly at. One by one, the brightest lights began to wink out, covered by Reapers, marking an attack and loss. In both cases, the brightest lights were attacked first.

“It looks like this everywhere. You keep seeing the same pattern-- they attack major population centers first,” Diana said, watching. “This is what I’ve been working on lately.”

“Plug this in,” Randall said from the elevator. Miranda and Traynor stiffened, but Jane just looked up, curious. Randall offered a data chip. 

“Cerberus activity for the last six months,” he explained, going to stand by Jane.

“You have a theory?” Jane asked.

“I’m tracking Inali,” he growled. “Volus got me some updated intel, and Lawson and the AI had the rest. If I’m right, I know where she is.”

The information translated into a tracery of red light, attacks and bases popping up all over the map. The red moved mirror to the black of the Reapers, working from the other edge to the galactic core.

Jane leaned forward, caught. “Oh, that’s genius,” she breathed. "It's perfect."

“That’s--” Miranda started, but Randall sliced a hand across his throat, shushing her.

“Wait for it,” he murmured.

Jane stared at the data before her, then reached out to spin the map, taking the entire thing in from a different angle. She mumbled something into the speaker of her omnitool, then circled the CIC until she was on the platform. She raised her wrist to her lips again, speaking quietly, barely discernible. Randall watched her, then finally jerked his head to the side, indicating the others should go.

“She’s going to be a while,” he told the others. “She's going to expect us to move fast when she comes out of it.”

“What?” Miranda asked, frowning.

“Probably a good idea to get her brother here. Bet that both of them together will have this settled in half the time, but it ain't going to be pretty when they're done. She did this when we took on the Rachni.” Randall shrugged as he headed for the elevator.

Jane held out a hand to them without looking. “Organize the diplomatic summit for as soon as possible,” she said, distant, her voice edged with the prospect of victory. "And get me a list of all unprovoked geth attacks in the last year."


	19. Friendship

John watched the door to the communications room slide shut behind Jane, her and Hackett’s voices still echoing in his ears. He turned and braced himself against the railing surrounding the holographic projection unit of the communications hub, letting his head rest on the cool metal. Bent almost in half, it stretched out his back and made the tension in his shoulders sing with pain too long ignored and shoved aside. Fatigue washed over him heavily, sapping his strength. 

He counted up the hours since he’d last slept and realized he was going on his forty-third hour without rest. Since Cerberus had brought him back, he needed less rest than before, but in those forty-three hours, he’d fought Cerberus, settled three minor diplomatic events, and found out his sister was a spy for the Alliance. He still wasn’t any closer to an army that would be able to save Earth and millions of lives were snuffed out every second he wasted on counting hours since he’d rested. He didn’t need Miranda to tell him he was at his limit.

He hit his forehead against the metal once in frustration and fear. Finally, he straightened, scrubbing a hand over his face. He could sleep when he was dead.

...Maybe. 

It wasn’t as if he had the best track record when it came to actually staying dead, he reflected morbidly as he left the communications room. 

***

“Tali! Tali’Zorah!”

Tali turned when she heard her name, just in time to see a slender, dark shadow detach herself from a table in the mess. She recognized the woman in time to open her arms and catch her in an embrace.

“Nadya!” She hugged her friend close, then pulled back enough to see her. “I did not know you were aboard!”

“My mother requested an infiltrator, and Admiral Xen allowed me to volunteer,” Nadya’Raan explained. “I was supposed to go to the front lines.”

“Your mother interfered?” Tali asked, long familiar with her friend’s exasperation at her mother’s attempt to keep her safe. Nadya was an infiltrator of the finest skill, but she also had a mother who had lost husband, previous child, and closest friends to war. Shala’Raan did her best to keep Nadya close and safe and Nadya did her best to be anything but.

“No, I heard our wayward Admiral was returning and made the request,” Nadya said, her shoulders held with obvious pleasure at seeing her friend. “I could not be away when I had the opportunity to help in this way, you know that.”

“We are lucky you are here,” Tali agreed, linking arms with her. They turned to continue down the hall. “I need all the help I can find, I think.”

“Still? I heard our newest Admiral has called off the war,” Nadya said, her tone a bit too innocent.

Tali shook her head. “ _Keelah,_ if only. Kal says he received intel that the geth are still planning an attack, and Legion confirmed it. We cannot do anything until we settle this.”

“Why not just go?” Nadya asked. “Would the geth follow us?”

“We need the geth,” Tali said. “Shepard is trying to organize a galactic fleet to fight the Reapers, and we are attempting to build a weapon to use against them. The geth will prove invaluable, if we can find a way to settle this peacefully.”

“You sound like Koris, with your talk of cooperation,” Nadya said, neither approving nor disapproving. 

“He is not so wrong. I fought beside Legion for a long time. We know it was not the geth who were initially at fault, Nadya.”

“You would be careful in saying so, Tali’Zorah. Many still disagree.” Nadya shook her head. “Especially with this war having caused so much loss.”

Tali looked away.

“But you are not wrong,” Nadya finished, quietly. “I would help you in any way I can, _phei’mora_.”

Tali turned back to her and smiled, hugged Nadya’s arm close. The old endearment, _sister-friend_ , a childhood dream that lingered into adulthood. They made their way into the port observation room, a tiny space mostly composed of windows someone had decided to use for storing a few rough, bolted down benches. “I am glad to have you, Nadya.”

“Speaking of having…” Nadya said, her voice playful and suggestive. “There is a rumor that two admirals are having a torrid, scandalous affair.”

Tali gasped. “Nadya, you should not speak of your mother and Admiral Xen so. I do not believe they are even friends!”

Nadya laughed, shaking her head at Tali. “Do not play innocent with me, Tali’Zorah. Your letters from Haestrom were completely devoid of any mention of dashing marines.”

“You suspect there was one with me on Haestrom?” Tali asked, still feigning innocence.

“I suspect there was an entire unit of them with you on Haestrom,” Nadya said.

Tali released Nadya’s arm to take a seat in by the observation window. “We linked suits,” she said in a rush. She realized how badly she had missed this-- the company of an intimate friend, sharing her feelings with another woman, one who would understand them. In rush of saving the galaxy, she had lost sight of the minute, closed herself from the loneliness of being isolated from her people. “It is silly to speak of such things, to be excited about it when the Reapers are trying to destroy everything,” Tali said, feeling guilty, “but it is so…” she trailed off and waved her hands, at a loss for how to describe it.

Nadya shook her head and sat beside Tali, taking her hand again. “Nonsense. Do not be a fool-- we must know what we fight for, yes? Why fight for the future if you do not know what you want from it? You linked suits! This is exciting. He is a fine male. A good match for you, I think.”

Tali smiled at Nadya, tangling their fingers together. “A very fine male,” she agreed, drawling the words out. “You should see him, Nadya.”

“ _You_ have seen him?” Nadya asked, head tilted in surprise.

“He kissed me,” Tali confessed. 

Nadya made a youthful sound of glee, gently mocking. It was a sound young girls made about childhood crushes, but there was something genuine behind it, something to keep it from being cutting. “I will help you plan a bonding ceremony,” Nadya decided. “It would be good to think of something festive.”

“I do not even know if we will live to see it,” Tali said, suddenly somber.

“Rather hope we will,” Kal said, from the doorway. “Considering my mother has plans for it to be on the homeworld, as soon as we retake it.”

The women started, twisting to stare at him in surprise. Tali fumbled for a response and came up with nothing.

Kal shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not one to upset my mother,” he told her. “Last time I did, she had me cleaning intake ducts for months. Might be able to get out of it now that I have a higher rank than her, but it’s usually easier just to let her have what she wants…” He shifted his weight slightly, drew himself straight. “Unless you were planning on something else, ma’am.”

Tali looked at Nadya, who wordlessly untangled her hand and tactfully hit her tactical cloak. The woman disappeared before Tali’s eyes, and a second later, Tali knew they were alone. She looked up at Kal. “Are you serious?” she asked.

“Yes’m,” he said. “I scrubbed every bit of intake duct on the Tonbay. Took forever. Had to redo a few parts, too.”

She made a sound of exasperation. “I meant about a bonding ceremony, Admiral _Bosh’tet,_ ” she said.

His posture didn’t relax, though he tilted his chin up in amusement. “If you will have me,” he said, quietly. “On Rannoch or here and now.”

Tali tried to find the words to respond, fumbling for them. Giving up, she stumbled off the bench and threw herself into his arms, pressing as close as the suits would allow. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, Admiral Kal’Reegar vas Neema of the Heavy Fleet.”

Kal laughed, a strangled sound between joy at her answer and exasperation at the use of the title. His arms closed around her and held tight.

He may not have found his better death in following the pretty scientist, but he had found a better life.

***

The Citadel was at once the most breathtaking sight Javik had seen since his awakening, and the most disappointing. It was as he had imagined, hidden in the pervasive darkness during the war. The Citadel, even now, even after this Cerberus attack, shone with life and energy. If he allowed himself, he could see the wonder and triumph of the place; so many species brought together, united by their ordinary lives. It was something from a child’s tale, a saccharine fantasy: people worked jobs that had little to do with survival or fighting the Reapers, they created families, they drove transport vehicles, and ate alarming quantities of something called ‘noodles.’ All the while, blissfully ignorant of the atrocities and horrors of the Reapers and their own impending doom. They lived on a massive, glowing target without a care as to why they should be concerned.

“It isn’t always like this,” a quiet voice said, from behind him. 

Javik felt no need to turn; the asari’s scent gave her away long before she’d spoken. Even here, among the overwhelming scents of the decay and deaths of the Cerberus, the miasma of so many living beings that made their homes here, he picked out her scent as unique. It had been one of the first things he’d known of this cycle; eyes clouded, mind dulled, body weak from millennia of stasis, it had been her scent to greet him, for better or worse. 

“No,” Javik agreed. “In my time, it was empty and forgotten, nothing but a myth.” His words were overtaken by the roar of a transport as it rushed by. Inside, he saw a salarian and a human laughing. “This was one of the Reaper’s first targets. It is a matter of time before they destroy it again.”

Liara huffed at him, an inelegant sound of frustration. She made such sounds at him often, he’d noted, and had once wondered aloud if she sought some reaction by doing so. She had made another strange noise then, a hilariously garbled half-scream. He wondered if she’d realized how amusing he found her to watch. Frustrating her seemed petty, even to him, but it was an addicting amusement. He had little better to do with his time.

“You honestly don’t think we have a chance?” she asked, wrapping her multiple slender fingers around the railing by him. Too many fingers, but still the same number as the asari had possessed before. So many things had changed, so few had changed. It made his head ache.

“I do not believe you are prepared for the scale of what is to come,” he told her. “You fight and squabble amongst one another, killing potential allies in the war against a much greater enemy and you accept it as the only course. The Reapers do not care for the politics of race. They will kill you all, indiscriminately. To fight like this?” He gestured at the clean-up efforts that were ongoing, C-Sec officers dragging Cerberus and bystander bodies onto transport pods. “No, asari, I cannot believe there is much of a chance.”

“And I suppose there was no infighting among the great protheans?” she responded, her tone short. She had missed his point. Again. Such a young creature from a younger race, he thought. He inhaled a breath, seeking patience. She thought he was attempting to lord the superiority of his race over her own-- and thus missed the opportunity to learn from the mistakes of his people.

“By my time, there were not enough left to create separate factions,” he said. “The Reapers had killed--”

“Everyone,” she finished, looking down. She shook her head, her frustration and anger leaving in a rush that was obvious even to him. “I’m sorry, Javik, I shouldn’t have been so short.”

The moment settled peacefully between them before he glanced at her sidelong. “Your species was never truly gifted with height,” he said. “It is hardly your own fault.”

She stared at him, her lips parted in shock. He ignored her gaze to ostensively continuing his contemplation of the city before him. He was instead distracted by the heavy sound of approaching footsteps.

“Javik,” she said, her voice warming with amusement, “...was that a joke?” 

“Of course not,” he said, rolling his eyes at her. “We had hoped you would eventually breed to rectify this failing, but it seems instead your kind decided to chase after a finer shade of blue for your skin.” He mocked a disgusted sound, shaking his head as he turned to face the source of the footsteps. “Primitives and your simple pursuit of beauty.”

Whatever retort that had been about to earn him was cut off as she turned to face him and saw the line of soldiers that had surrounded them. Their guns were trained on him, unwavering.

He sighed. This cycle’s sheer stupidity would kill him long before the Reapers ever had the chance.

***

Liara was waiting for John in the War Room, pacing around the catwalk like a caged animal. Glyph followed dutifully behind, responding to her short questions and comments with respectful bobs of its glowing body. John passed a hand through the drone to pause it, but Liara almost charged through him before she noticed him. 

“Shepard!” she said, stumbling to a halt and regaining her composure. “You must come at once. The Alliance has taken Javik and refuse to release him.”

John exhaled. “Of course they have,” he said. He gestured for her to lead the way, snagging a cup of coffee from the hub in front of an engineer as he passed. It was loaded with sugar, but still strong enough to be tolerable. “I guess they found out we made contact with a new species?” he asked her as they entered the elevator.

“Yes,” she said. “They took him at gunpoint and refuse to release him. The officer in charge will not tell me anything, so I hacked into their communications. Apparently, some protocol dictates they must contact the correct authorities and hold the being in quarantine until it has been cleared. They’re in complete chaos because no one knows _who_ the correct authorities are, in this case.”

John raised an eyebrow at her. “They took him _at gunpoint_?” he asked. The guns he believed. From what little he’d seen of the prothean during the battle on the Citadel, he’d gotten the impression Javik wasn’t one to go _anywhere_ unless he felt like it.

“Yes,” Liara said. “Or rather, I believe he went with them despite the guns.” She waved that away. “Shepard, he is an invaluable asset to our campaign. You cannot--”

“They won’t,” he assured her, resting a hand on her shoulder as the elevator doors opened. Far more Alliance uniforms greeted him than could be accounted for by Normandy crew members. He pushed his way through to the guards to the Port Cargo Area. Inside, more guards awaited. Javik sat encased in a glowing orb of biotic energy, the glow of it casting purple light over the scene. He appeared to be in meditating.

His eyes opened when Shepard and Liara entered, but otherwise the prothean made no move. The officer in charge, a bulky older woman with close clipped hair, held out her gun to block Shepard’s approach.

“Sir, this area is under quarantine until such--” the woman started.

“Captain,” Shepard said, glancing at the designation on her uniform. “I’m Commander John Shepard and this area,” he paused to gesture to the room, “is part of the SSV Normandy SR-2. It is under my authority until such time as I am removed from my command. Liara told me you’re following Alliance Contact Regulations, protocols Alpha through Gamma and had some concerns.” 

Several of the assembled soldiers murmured to each other, and one leafed through an antiquated print copy of the Alliance Regulations.

“I’m extending Spectre authority to take over this quarantine,” Shepard continued, reaching out to shake her hand and pat her on the shoulder. He smiled at her bewilderment. “Javik is a member of my crew. You and your squad have preformed admirably, but I’m sure you have much more pressing issues to deal with. Thank you, Captain.” He cut her off when she began to protest, his voice abruptly developing the cool, flinty tone that had backed down officers far her superior. “ _Dismissed._ ”

The woman looked between the prothean, her squad, and Shepard before saluting once and leading her squad away. Shepard watched them go. “EDI?” he said.

“Yes, Shepard?” the AI asked, overhead.

“Please ensure they find their way off the ship,” he said. “I don’t want any of them getting ideas regarding our newest guest.”

“Of course, Shepard,” she said.

He turned to look at the prothean, who dropped his meditation and rose to his full height. They regarded each other in silence, neither displaying any aggression but both confident in their ability to kill the other, should it be required. Shepard’s tolerance for the game was low and he finally shrugged.

“Javik?” he asked.

The prothean inclined his head. “Indeed. You are Shepard, the commander of this ship.”

Shepard nodded. “In the flesh, more or less. Liara said you were a soldier. Do you know anything about the Crucible?”

Javik shook his head. “Only that it was a weapon many thought could stop the Reapers for good. I was put into stasis before we were able to complete the project. I know very little. Your asari has pried most of my knowledge of it from my mind already.”

John sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah, that would have been too easy, wouldn’t it? Welcome aboard, Javik. Feel like sticking around and helping us fight a war?”

Javik stared at him, then looked past him to Liara. “ _This_ is your mighty Commander Shepard?”

John raised his eyebrows at that, then looked over his shoulder at Liara, who was trying to stifle a smile. “I’m not an expert here, but I get the feeling he isn’t impressed. Is it the uniform? Everyone’s always so fussy about proving my identity when I don’t wear the uniform.”

“You _are_ covered in…” Liara looked him over, then peered closely at something on his shoulder. “I do not want to theorize on what it is. You really aren’t looking your best, Shepard. When did you last sleep?”

“Forty-three hours ago,” he said, promptly, pleased to be able to do something with that piece of information. The time hadn’t been wasted after all. He turned back to Javik and sobered, narrowing his eyes. “I don’t have time to convince you I’m worth following. Either you’re going to stay or you’re going to go, but right now, I have a war to win. Before I can win this war, I have to stop several others. If you want to help destroy the Reapers, I’m happy to have you aboard and could use the help. If you need me to impress you first, your best bet is to follow me around for five minutes, which is usually how long I get between crises. It’s your call, but I don’t have time for this right now.” 

John stared at the prothean a minute longer, then turned on his heel and looked at Liara. “If he stays, find out everything he knows about the Reapers and tactics that succeeded or failed and send it to me. Then tell him our current plans and get an evaluation.” He didn’t wait for an answer. The door to the Cargo Area slid shut behind him.

“An interesting man, your commander,” Javik remarked.

Liara smiled slightly as Javik settled back into his meditative pose. Regardless of what Javik had said, he would stay on the Normandy. “You have no idea,” she said.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd like to read more about her, Nadya'Raan shows a different side of herself in the story Good, Better, Best.


	20. Rest

Mordin lifted his hands off the keyboard when the screen of his console abruptly went blank, replaced with a simple screen of text. Alarm shot through him and dissipated equally as fast when he recognized the nature of the message-- EDI simply requested his attention. She had done it in the past, when he found himself too absorbed by his work to be distracted by the chimes of his mail alerts. A glance at the medbay’s cots confirmed Eve was sleeping. Thoughtful was not an adjective ordinarily applied to AI, Mordin thought, but EDI was consistently reflective. He nodded at the camera in the corner of the medbay. EDI would have saved his work before putting the message on the terminal, but he double-checked anyway.

The door to the AI Core slid open, inviting him to a more private conference than if he’d simply stepped into the hall. He checked Eve’s vitals as he passed-- still strong, growing steadier with each passing hour. He had made larger strides more quickly than anticipated, with Thane’s contributions. Right decision to destroy data at the time, but wrong decision in the long run. Still morally correct, simply changed circumstances. Practical need and conditions that could not have been predicted. If Eve’s current trend continued... He dismissed the feeling of hope as sentimental and useless, and stepped into the core.

“Dr. Solis,” EDI greeted him.

“EDI. You requested assistance?” he asked, looking up at her camera politely.

“Yes, doctor. When you travelled with Shepard previously, you requested I monitor the vital psychological and physiological statistics of the crew members and alert you in the event of any significant fluctuations,” EDI said.

“Yes, preventative treatment. Easier to combat onset of PTSD. Shepard’s profile very similar to many military leaders with debilitating cases. Survivor guilt,” Mordin recalled, shaking his head. Understandable, but regrettable. “You continued to do so in my absence?” he asked, momentarily surprised by it. Then again, very practical for her to do so. EDI oversaw health of ship and crew. Wellbeing of Commander Shepard would justify continued use of such a program. Mordin’s own presence was not essential.

“Doing so did not occupy a significant portion of my processing power,” EDI confirmed. “I saw no reason to discontinue. While I have seen some fluctuations, many were brief and inconsistent with the patterns you were concerned by, usually most easily remedied by the resolution of a stressor event.”

“Expected. High stress job, expected to adapt to abnormal levels of pressure. Baseline high, must be factored in to profile of all Normandy crew with considerations given to account for rank. Exponentially higher, closer to Shepard’s trusted circle. You adjusted accordingly?” he asked, pausing.

“Yes, doctor. I have sent you a report, summarizing the algorithm,” EDI answered, even as his mail alert chimed.

Mordin opened it and scanned it. “Something has changed?” he asked.

“I also sent the current readings for Commander Shepard and his sister, as well as their executive officers and several other crew members to your omnitool,” EDI said. “I thought it prudent to pull any information on Jane Shepard and her crew when they began to interact with the Normandy. I was able to put together enough information to provide a basis for comparison.”

He pulled up the files and looked through them, blinking a few times in surprise at the levels he noted. He nodded. “Worrying. You were right to contact me. Will see to this immediately. Am surprised there has not been more of an impact on efficiency already. May need to reevaluate the algorithm. Later. This first.”

“They are currently gathered in the CIC,” EDI said.

***

Garrus lifted his head when the doors to the Main Battery opened behind him. Everyone had been chased from the CIC by EDI and Mordin, something at once chagrining and hilarious. It was impossible to argue with an AI and a salarian… mostly because they made it hard to get a word in edgewise. They’d made good points, though no one was happy to leave off planning.

He was supposed to be asleep, himself. Turians didn’t follow the same sleep patterns as humans; they tended to sleep for longer periods after longer periods of activity. He was tired, but nowhere as close to his limits as Mordin appeared to think.

The numbers on screen swam before him, mocking. Then again…

“Hey, Garrus,” Jane said from the hatch behind him. “Got a minute?”

He had already been closing up the files. He nodded slightly as he turned to face her. “You’re supposed to be asleep,” he observed.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” Jane said, with a weary smile. She came to stand beside him at the console. “What were you working on?”

“Calibrations,” Garrus said, with a shrug. He glanced back at the main gun. “A gun this large requires constant recalibrating to keep it accurate. It’s also...ah…” he flared his mandibles, uncertain. “Relaxing.”

Jane seemed unfazed by the revelation. She nodded, looking at the gun. “I clean my Widow when I can’t sleep,” she said.

“You have a Widow?” he asked, surprised. “Most humans can’t shoot the original variant.”

“I modified it something fierce,” she said, grinning up at him. “I’ll have to show her to you. The bitch requires constant upkeep, but she’s never let me down. The Black Widow’s a lot easier to handle, even when I have to steal it back from John.” 

She knew her guns. Garrus looked down at her, humming his appreciation deep in his chest. He could love this woman.

The thought struck him hard, left him gaping. He’d never considered taking up anything serious. His work with C-Sec had kept him too on edge for much, then Shepard had come along and made it tough to focus on anything but whatever vital mission they were on. Hard to fit any woman into a lifestyle like his, but Jane… Jane wasn’t just any woman, that was for sure. 

He was staring at her with his mandibles hanging loose, he realized, like a chick with his first Fornax. He pulled himself together, literally. 

“I don’t have a place to sleep,” she admitted. “Chakwas gave Randall a sedative and put him in the medbay. Charr’s with his wife on the new _Nedas_. Crew quarters are full.” She shrugged.

“You can sleep with me,” he offered, then realized in horror what that sounded like. Not that he didn’t want her in bed, or on the nearest flat surface, or against the guns... “Ah-- that is… you can use my bunk. It’s-- turians don’t sleep the same--”

Jane laughed, pressing a finger against his mouth to stop him. The pad of her fingertip was softer than the skin around his mouth. “I get it,” she said, smile lingering on her lips. “Trust me, big guy, I’d take you up on it either way, but I’d rather impress you with my skills when I finally get you naked, not with my snoring.”

Garrus stared at her as he processed what she’d just said. His mind short circuited.

She laughed again, a low, warm sound that curled around him and pulled a pleased hum from his subharmonics in response. She caught his hand and dragged him away from the console. “C’mon, help me build a nest,” she said.

He wondered if she had _any_ idea what that translated to, if she understood the cultural implications of what she’d said. He decided he was too tired to really care as she began to pull his bedding apart. She thrust a bundle she’d brought with her into his arms and he followed dutifully as she made her way deeper into the Main Battery.

She found a corner between a console and the curving wall of the ship, out of sight from the doorway and warmed from the heat off the main gun. It was just large enough for the two of them and she threw his bedding down, taking the bundle from him to reveal her own kit. She tossed the blanket and pillow onto the pile, pushed him into the nest, and crawled in after him.

It was awkward until they sorted themselves out, her back to his front, his back against the gun. She rested her cheek against the edge just inside his cowl, her soft hip cradled against his, legs to either side of her own. It was, he realized, a classic turian sniper’s seat, with her body acting as his rifle. She exhaled once, reached between them to pull the pistol from his hip holster, and put it within easy reach under a fold of a blanket.

“Comfortable?” he asked, unable to keep the wry thrum of amusement from his voice.

“Be more comfortable if _someone_ wasn’t in full armor,” she said, without opening her eyes. When he bent his head to look down at her, he was practically pressing his face into her neck. He brushed his mandibles against the curve of it, nuzzling the softer skin. He inhaled the spicy, sweet scent of her before he could help himself.

“I’ll have to remember that for next time,” he said, more subvocal hum than actual words.

“Good,” she said and drifted into sleep.

***

“Shepard,” Samara said without turning. When he said nothing, she released her meditations to rise, turn and look at him.

John stood just inside the doorway, leaning against the closed doors. His eyes were ringed with darkness, something Samara recalled as being a human sign of fatigue. His shoulders were held stiff and squared, but even from across the room, she could see the exhaustion coming off him in waves. A man pushed past his limits, driven by the cruelest of taskmasters: himself.

“Mordin ordered us to rest,” he said, with a rueful smile. It made him look so much younger than he was, like a small boy trying to charm his way out of trouble. None of her girls had ever attempted so innocent a look, though a few of her lovers had. They had not been nearly so skilled at it-- knowing Shepard as she did, she still almost believed the facade. “Apparently he outranks everyone, including pirate queens and legends.”

“I am sure it had little to do with the actual wisdom of his advice,” Samara said, her smile faint but unforgiving.

John shifted his weight and finally sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. It erased any facsimile of what he believed he was needed to be, removed any mask of charm or heroism, leaving only the hard, tired man pushed to his own limits. 

He began to cross the room to her but hesitated halfway. Theirs had never been a simple relationship; had circumstances been different…

Circumstances were what they were.

“Sit,” she said softly and resumed her own seat. He sank to the floor beside her, into a pose she had taught him, when theirs was a friendship still developing.

“I tried to rest,” he confessed, looking at his hands. Such a small thing, but he made it sound as if he’d failed them all. “I did. I just can’t. We have too much that needs to be done. I could be doing so many other things right now, I could be helping--”

“You will be unable to do that which is required if you continue much longer like this,” she pointed out, without accusation. “Your limits far exceed any ordinary man’s, but that does not mean you are without them.”

“I know,” he said, looking away from her. Words devoid of meaning-- he may have heard her, but he did not truly understand how to pause when so many things compelled him forward. He shook his head once, as if trying to clear it. “I could--”

“No,” she said, simply. This was not the first time he’d come to her for peace, nor, she knew, would it be the last time. Great men were carved from sheer iron will and driven mercilessly by fate and necessity. They never rested easily nor often. “Everything will be what it must be, Shepard, whether you rest or not.”

“I know,” he repeated. He looked at her and despite herself, she found herself caught by the gaze, locked into the intensity of his focus, the desperation in his eyes. He understood only that he had to rest, because if he did not, it would kill him, and that would doom that all. He could only think of sleep in that way, would never believe it an enjoyment or a necessity of comfort. 

Samara knew he loved Miranda with every fiber of his being, but he sought _her_ when he needed peace. 

She did not dwell on that. It had no place in her life.

“I was meditating,” she said in invitation, turning her attention back to the galaxy outside the observatory. The inky blackness welcomed her. “Listen, John. The Normandy is quiet now.”

The ship had always been the key to him. He faced the vastness of space as if it were a charging krogan, ready to attack. He stared in challenge at the stars that so calmed her, but the Normandy sang to his very core, could soothe him in a vital way no woman ever would. She knew he thought _she_ was the one to provide him with peace, but she was simply the first to recognize that which actually did. The sound of the engines, of the ventilation systems, of the crew, muted and moving about their business, these were a siren’s lullaby to Shepard’s soul.

His eyes shut and his breathing slowed, beside her, as he listened to his ship and let her sing him to peace. It was not long before he stretched out on the floor beside her, sound asleep.

Samara continued her meditations in truth, standing silent vigil over him. When the doors again opened some time later, she turned her head only enough to glimpse Miranda.

“I thought he’d be here,” Miranda whispered, her tone neutral. “Has he been asleep long?”

“An hour,” Samara said. “Maybe less.”

Miranda sighed and scratched her collarbone, looking around the observatory. “Would it disturb you to…” she started, but paused.

Samara had already risen. She shook her head. “I have an appointment soon,” she said, saving Miranda the slight to her pride, preventing her from finishing her request. “You are welcome to rest in my quarters, with him,” she offered. “I believe there are a few extra pillows and a blanket in the cabinet under the bench, there.”

Miranda was too well bred to show open relief at the offer, but she did smile faintly, nodding at the justicar. Theirs was not a simple relationship, but rarely was anything simple, when it came to loving great men.

 

***

Liara wandered the Citadel without apparent aim, seeming nothing more than a young asari on a shopping spree. When studied more closely and with consideration, however, her true purpose was manifest; she met with multiple contacts over the course of a few short hours, bartering in information rather than material goods. By the time she stopped to eat at Apollo’s Cafe, she had very few items to show for such an involved shopping trip. Despite her care in covering her tracks, the asari still drew attention, though of a different sort than suspicion. She was an attractive example of her kind, and more than a few eyes turned her way as she passed. For the most part, it seemed harmless, but there were a few whose curiosity seemed significantly less simple.

“You going to sit there staring all day, or you want to order something?” one of those few asked, from behind the bar. 

Javik sat at the corner of it, out of plain sight and back to the wall, but with an excellent view of the rest of the commons. He turned his head slightly to consider the matriarch behind the bar. She had been following Liara same as he, though she’d left off approximately an hour past. He had not been surprised when she took over care of the cafe a short while ago.

“I require nothing of you,” he said.

“Too bad,” the matriarch said. “I don’t feel the same. You’ve been following that asari.”

“I have reason to,” he said. “You have no such excuse. What interest is the asari to you?”

The matriarch studied him a long moment, her gaze that of a creature used to harder and longer fights than most would be willing to provide. Javik kept her gaze-- he was no primitive to be intimidated by the slight violence she may have seen.

“You’re that prothean,” the matriarch said, finally, leaning her back against the bar as she looked at him. “Heard a rumor Shepard had dug one up somewhere. Haven’t seen anyone else that might fit the bill.”

“A brilliant deduction,” he said. “It is good your kind has retained such keen eyes for the obvious.”

To his surprise, the matriarch threw her head back and laughed, rather than taking offense. She smiled when she looked at him, but it was a razor sharp thing. “That’s good, prothean. Nice to see you aren’t the pussy philosophers they said you were.”

“No,” Javik agreed. “By my time, we were all soldiers and killers.”

“You say it like there’s that much of a difference, at the end of a war,” the matriarch said, surprising him yet again.

“What interest is the asari to you?” he asked again, cutting off her amusement.

She sighed, looking back at Liara. “Her mother was the matriarch Benezia. Don’t know how up you are on your current events--” She glanced at Javik.

He said nothing, unwilling to admit to any ignorance, even this small. He would find out about Benezia later.

“Right,” the matriarch said. “The other asari matriarchs aren’t what you’d call… comfortable with Liara’s new influence. They asked me to keep an eye on her.”

The lie was inelegant and obvious, even to him. If it were the truth, it was only a bare fraction. He turned his full attention to her, allowing her to see what true violence looked like, what an eon of war could breed. To her credit, she did not back down, for all she could not hold his gaze.

“That is not all of the story,” he stated.

The matriarch shifted her weight, practically fidgeting before she sighed. “Matriarch Benezia was, ah, her mother,” the matriarch said. “And, well, she doesn’t know it, but I was her father.”

Javik considered this with the way the asari had looked at Liara, followed her, and found the statement plausible.

“That does not explain why you are following her, asari,” he said. “Only your interest.”

“She’s never even met me,” the matriarch said. “And the name’s Aethyta. Use it.”

Javik did not acknowledge that. He would call her whatever he wished. “You think I will believe such a stupid story, asari? You pine after a long lost daughter, and this is your interest in Liara?”

Aethyta’s eyes narrowed at him. “Truth is, she’s one of the most powerful information brokers in the galaxy. She’s got some shady connections at _best_ , working with Cerberus--”

“You do not believe her to be without honor,” he stated, stopping her from lying to him again. “I tire of this, asari.”

“--And that makes the other matriarchs nervous, _prothean,_ ” the matriarch finished, almost a growl. “It might make some of them order a hit against her.”

Javik made a low sound at that, of disgust and fury. “Then they will learn the error of such ways,” he said, in a quiet voice.

“No argument here,” Aethyta said. “Why do you think I’m working in a cafe, prothean? Even with my past, I’m over a thousand years old. I don’t do anything unless I want to.”

“You do not want to kill those who threaten your progeny?” Javik asked, disgust heavy in his tone.

“Who’s to say I haven’t?” Aethyta asked, sharply. 

“Javik,” Liara said. The two of them turned to see she had joined them, and stood now, looking annoyed. “Who are you talking to?”

“Your father,” he said and had the satisfaction of seeing Aethyta flinch.

“Yes, I know,” Liara said. “Hello, Aethyta. Javik, if you wanted to join me, you could have done so.”

“I had no interest in joining you in your frivolity.” Javik rolled his eyes and shook his head at her. “I am going back to the ship.”

“You could take my things back with you!” Liara called after him, her voice mischievous. She sought to bait him, for his blunt treatment of her kin. He did not turn back, but heard the gasps when her purchases lifted, one by one, into the air with a blaze of purple light. He manipulated the biotic fields with delicate precision, knowing the display illustrated skill considered impossible for primitive species. The packages floated behind him all the way back to the docks. 

***

Aeian woke to screaming and suffocation. She fought against the bindings holding her, arms, hands, grabbing, rending, trying to tear her apart. Biotic energy blossomed from her as a banshee wailed in the distance and she heard--

Pella. Pella’s soft voice in her ear, repetitive, soothing, a lulling asari prayer repeated again and again as she fought to hold Aeian. Her arms loosened when Aeian abruptly stopped struggling, still too lost in herself to be aware, but listening, caught by the chant. It seemed like an eternity before the asari relaxed fully and looked at the other woman, exhaling a long breath.

“Pella?” she asked, voice shaking.

Pella made a soft sound of agreement, gentling her hold. “A dream, _dragot’seya_ , nothing more. You are safe now.”

Aeian frowned, her heart still pounding and her blood screaming that she was in danger, but realizing Pella was right. She was on a quarian ship with Pella, waiting for news on how to stop the Reapers’ influence. Shepard. Recruiting an army.

Pella wasn’t wearing her helmet, her face and hair gloriously bare. Aeian focused on her fine, sharp features, losing herself in them instead of the terror. Pella wouldn't remove her helmet unless they were safe.

Pella smiled, pressing her cheek to the other woman’s, a singularly quarian gesture of affection. “There now, you are back. A bad dream, yes?”

Aeian nodded, though it hadn’t felt like a dream. “Were you praying to Athame?” she asked.

“Did it help you?” Pella asked.

“My mother. My mother would pray to Athame over everything,” Aeian said, resting her head on Pella’s shoulder, her face hidden in the quarian’s neck. “She would drop a dish and pray to Athame for more grace. Her mother was a priestess and used to do the same thing, only she was faithful and my mother was mocking it. Yes. It helped.”

Pella made another soft sound, comforting, stroking her hand over Aeian’s crest. “I am glad. You suffer fewer nightmares, did you know? I have kept track. This is a good thing.”

Aeian shook her head and straightened, looking around the room for her gun. “Or I don’t have to sleep to be terrified.” 

Pella clucked in disapproval, picking up her datapad. She’d been working on something before Aeian woke. The Asari found her gun and came back to sit on the bed, looking at the datapad. “What are you doing?’

“We will need to purge the Reaper code from the geth consensus. Legion believes we may be able to do so through a server on Rannoch,” Pella explained. “I am reviewing what information Legion has on the geth and Reaper interactions in preparation.”

“You’re going to stop them?” Aeian asked.

“I am uniquely suited to do so,” Pella agreed. “Someone will need to enter the geth consciousness to purge the code.”

“And you used to do that,” Aeian said. “Used to enter the consciousness. As a child.”

“Yes,” Pella said. “But there is something odd about the Reaper code. I am not sure what it is, but there is…” she trailed off, frowning at her datapad. “I do not know,” she repeated, shaking her head. 

Aeian drummed her fingers against her gun. “When do we go?” she asked.

Pella looked up, distracted from the puzzle of the code. “I did not expect you to come.”

Aeian stared at her. In a sudden burst of movement, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to Pella’s, a brief, searing kiss that caught them both off guard. When Aeian again sat back, there was something smug and predatory in her smile.

“When do we go?” she asked again.

***


	21. Scream

Charr woke to find his wife, round and swollen with their child, seated on the bunk across from him. She was methodically going through his weapons, cleaning the pieces and making repairs with a single minded focus she reserved for merchandise. He watched her work, letting the time slip by them in long, peaceful minutes.

“Who’s caring for your gear?” Ereba asked, when she finished with his shotgun. She didn’t look up, even as her nimble fingers plucked the rifle from the bed beside her. She held it up to examine it. “I’ve told you not to hit enemies with the barrel, Charr. It ruins the accuracy. Hit them with the grip.”

“A true mistress of wisdom and war,” Charr rumbled, made content to the very core by the very sight of her. “We care for our own weapons.”

“That’s stupid,” Ereba said, without heat. She glanced at him, but there was fondness in her look. “You know you’re awful about these things. I fixed your Disciple, but you might have to replace this.” She waggled the rifle to indicate it.

“How is our daughter?” he asked, unconcerned by Ereba’s reprimands. He shifted his bulk out of the bunk, crossing to crouch at the floor by her feet. He reached to touch her swollen womb.

She sighed in exasperation even as she shifted into his reach, allowing him to slide his hand over her stomach. “Strong. I think she’s headbutting me, not kicking.”

Charr rumbled a laugh at the idea of their tiny, blue daughter, yet unborn, but still as fierce as any krogan battlemaster. He knew it would become the truth. “Are you in pain?” he asked his wife.

“No,” Ereba said quietly, running her fingers over his frontal plate. “Charr, let me come with you.”

Charr looked up at her, not protesting, waiting. Ereba requested many things of him, but rarely did she request something without purpose. 

“Someone needs to run your armory,” she said. “I can repair weapons, armor… you know I’m better at it than you are. And I want to be with you. The Citadel doesn’t feel safe.”

“We will not be safe,” Charr said. “We travel on war’s bloody edge.”

“Nowhere is safe anymore. I want to be with you,” she repeated. 

He stared up at his blue rose, so beautiful, unbowed by fear or violence, and knew she was no longer a creature of Illium, but had planted her roots firmly in him. 

“I will ask,” he promised.

***

Randall woke exactly six hours from the moment Chakwas gave him the sedative. He cleaned his guns, repaired the lash-gauntlets, checked over his gear, and kitted himself out. Less than an hour later, he was in the mess, on his sixth MRE.

“Here,” a voice said, setting a protein shake beside him. “I usually have a few of these before a mission.”

Miranda Lawson sat down across from him and met his gaze without flinching.

“I won’t apologize for what I did,” she said.

“Don’t give a damn,” he said, ignoring the shake.

She sat in silence as he ate, as others began to join them. He listened as they began to speculate as to the next move, but he knew where he was headed. 

“Lesuss.” John Shepard’s voice cut through the crew’s chatter. He leaned against the wall of the mess, near the medbay.

“You’re sure?” Jane asked. Randall glanced up to find her standing on the walkway to the Main Battery, the turian behind her. 

"I gave Miranda a short range emergency tracker before she went to Horizon," John said, nodding. “She left it with Inali. It's activated when the host produces a certain strength of biotic field. Should give us a specific location.”

Randall glared at Miranda. “Didn’t want to mention that before?”

“It didn’t make any difference until we had a smaller area to search,” Miranda said.

“Randall, you’re sure it’s Lesuss?” Jane asked.

He shook his head. “Best of a few options. That volus thinks she’s there. It’s enough for me.” He looked up at his captain. “You going to fight me on this?”

She shook her head. “No,” she said. “I’m going with you.”

“We all are,” John said. “Four teams, coordinated strike. You, Samara, Miranda, and I are alpha. If that’s going to be an issue, you need to tell me now.”

Randall looked between the women and John. “Why the asari?”

“I have a vested interest in the monastery,” Samara said. “My daughters both live there.”

Randall shook his head. “That’s going to divide our focus.”

“No,” Samara said, with cool certainty. “The Code does not allow for personal indulgences of family when an innocent such as Inali suffers. I join you because I have knowledge of the facilities.”

He’d heard stories about justicars, but this one was harder than he’d expected. Randall nodded.

“Jane and Garrus are beta team. They’re going to provide long range support and cover us,” John continued. 

“Have room for one more?” Ashley said, from the opposite side of the mess. Thane stood slightly behind her. 

“Two more,” Thane said, quietly. He did not look at Ashley when she twisted to scowl at him. “Snipers are better in teams, _siha,_ ” he murmured, watching Shepard.

John looked at Ashley, the distance between them further than it seemed. “We need the best, Williams,” he said. He smiled at the surprise that flickered across her face. “You and Thane join beta team. Liara, Javik, and Mordin will go in as gamma team. They’re running extraction and counter-tactics once we locate Inali. Mordin will provide medical support until we can get Inali back to the Normandy. Jacob, Chakwas, and Brynn are standing by in the medbay. Cortez is going to fly us in. Vega, EDI, and Charr are the delta squad. They’ll hold the landing zone and keep our exit clear.”

 “I have intel that the asari government sent an elite squad of commandos to the monastery,” Liara said, working off her omnitool. “They have since lost all contact with them. Evidence suggests they’ve been killed.” 

John nodded. “And EDI’s reported that initial scans of the planet show massive biotic and Reaper energy. This is probably going to be one hell of a fight, so if anyone’s got reservations going in, speak up now.”

No one said a word.

***

It was not silent.

Blood, biotics gone sour, and decay were sweet perfumes on the air. The screams of her brethren, wild howls of manic fury, promising violence, promising pain. Each one dragged ripping claws into the flesh of the planet, each one cackled victory and drowned the songs of the dying and newly born. 

Names, words, emotions. Relationships. Reasoning. Pleasure.

Humanity drifted away, lost to putrid infection.

She thought she might have been a human woman once.

What was left of that woman raised her head to the sky and tried to scream it down in agony and ecstasy.

***


End file.
